Surrender
by tromana
Summary: Jane/Lisbon oneshot collection for the 15genres1prompt community on LiveJournal. FINAL: Do You Remember - Tamzin Dove has a proposition for Jane. Genre: Time Travel
1. Psychological Thriller

**A/N:** Yep, yet another oneshot collection. This time it is for the 15genres1prompt community on LiveJournal. I have been supplied with 15 different fic genres/types/structures and a single prompt to write fifteen stories for it. I thought the best thing to do was to start this new collection as some of them will be more like 'snapshots' of different 'verses I could potentially write one day. So yes. I hope these are enjoyable as it's definitely a learning curve for me, for a start.

x tromana

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><p><strong>Title: <strong>Discordance  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Lisbon, trying to close the Red John case on her own.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: psychological thriller.

**Discordance**

She steeled herself. Breathing deeply, she tried to steady her breath, to slow down her rapidly beating heart. She knew that she couldn't risk showing any sign of weakness, any flaws in her armor. If she did, then she would be giving him precisely what he needed. It meant that he could use them against her and manipulate her however he wanted to. Then, she wouldn't have a chance in hell of carrying out her plan, never mind getting out of this sorry situation alive.

She knocked on the door. There was no point in stalling any longer. Otherwise, she would most likely end up talking herself out of this. It would make her run for the hills in attempt to escape.

Except, there was no escaping from Red John. If she tried to run, then he would know exactly what she had been intending, would realize why she had been trying to ingratiate herself in his inner sanctum.

If he hadn't worked it out already, of course. There was no denying just how sharp-minded the serial killer was. After all, it was why he had evaded capture for such an overwhelmingly long time.

Lisbon shuddered. She felt like she shouldn't be here. Nervously, she rubbed at her arms, trying to keep the circulation moving, trying to ignore the incessant ringing in her ears. It was like her whole body was trying to tell her this was wrong, that she needed to get the hell out of the situation. She was about to willingly walk into the lair of the enemy and it was taking all of her willpower just to stand on the doorstep alone. How on earth was she going to face what was coming next.

She tried to reassure herself with the simple fact that this was what she had trained practically all her life to do. Her firearm was to hand. Or rather, it was firmly strapped into a thigh holster. If things went wrong, as she anticipated they would, it wouldn't take long for her to be armed and dangerous.

She'd be fine. She had to be.

They needed this over, and fast.

Otherwise, Jane…

As thoughts of him flickered across her mind, she shook her head violently. Lisbon had to be careful. She couldn't let him cloud her judgment. It wasn't just him that she was doing this for; it was her job to do so. And there were so many other people affected by Red John and he seemed to forget that. They all needed the answers they so desperately craved and that was what she was about to get for them. She was determined to do so, anyway. The only reason she hadn't told Jane of this specific plan to bring down the serial killer was to protect him. If he knew, then he would be blinded by rage and land up getting himself hurt, or worse.

This was a form of damage limitation, of sorts.

It meant that only she was put literally in the firing range. Even Cho was just in a van across the street. Close enough to provide backup, but far enough away not to get involved in the fray.

And she knew all too well that this could quite easily get very messy indeed. After all, she was a cop. She was meant to fight injustice and evil, not sell her soul to the proverbial devil. And not only that, but she was Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon. It was well known that she was the lead agent in charge of the Red John case.

It was also remarkably well known that she had a particularly large soft spot for a certain Patrick Jane as well. Irritatingly enough, even people she barely knew seemed to be aware of that specific fact.

It had taken all of her powers of persuasion to convince Red John and his acolytes that that was all a facade. And a lot of training and encouragement from Jane himself, of course. She wouldn't have been able to do this without him.

Not that he knew what she was doing. No, all he knew was that she was doing some sort of undercover assignment and being a little rusty, required a few pointers from the expert of manipulation.

She hoped this would be worth it, desperately so. Jane needed freeing from his demons and he also had to realize that revenge was not the answer. And the only way she had been able to consider doing that was by carrying out her own private investigations into the Red John debacle.

In fact, such was her desire for privacy, she only informed one member of her team, Cho, just two hours earlier. Once she had told him the bare necessities of her plan and what she required of him for support, he was more than willing to provide her with backup.

She checked her watch before rapping smartly on the door once more. It was taking an awfully long time for somebody to answer the door. Significantly longer than he usually did anyway.

Lisbon had never actually met Red John face to face before. This was meant to be the first meeting. Apparently she was 'ready' and 'deserving' of it now. Whatever the hell that meant. Did it mean she had convinced them that underneath her honest, no-nonsense cop exterior laid a heart of steel? That she was capable and (apparently) willing to do innumerable abhorrent deeds?

Of course she wasn't, not really, but that was what they appeared to believe, or so she hoped.

Because if they didn't…

When the door slowly opened, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was about time as well.

The man who answered was masked, just as she expected. As with her previous visits, it wasn't Red John himself, just one of his acolytes. Answering his own door was far beneath him. Why did he need to bother when he had people who acted as little more than slaves willing to wait on him hand and foot?

The floorboard creaked as she gingerly placed her weight on it. Of course it did; even if she wasn't being guided downstairs by her silent chaperone, then she just wouldn't have been allowed to approach Red John surreptitiously, on her own terms. In reality the creaking was more likely to be serendipitous but Lisbon couldn't help but see the bitter irony of the fact.

The voices from the cellar were slowly but surely drifting upwards. So Red John wasn't alone in there. She was being greeted by a welcoming committee. With a gentle sigh, Lisbon straightened out her much too short red dress. It left very little to the imagination, but that was what his lord and master had demanded of her.

When an altogether far too familiar voice sounded out above the others, Lisbon felt as though her body temperature had just dropped considerably. It couldn't be him, could it? How the hell had he even known? She had been so manipulative, kept her investigations shrouded in secrecy and for good reason. Lisbon just couldn't afford for him to mess this one up, their one chance to finally close the Red John case for once and for all.

And as for the alternative, that he was an active part of the cult of Red John? Well the very thought was scarcely worth thinking about. It was one of those sick ideas that just required disregarding almost as soon as they had flitted to the forefront of her mind. An impossibility.

Or, she was simply a fool and had been taken for a ride. His haunted widower act was nothing more than the work of a cruel and manipulative genius.

Just like Red John.

Lisbon stared at yet another door. This one, to the cellar, was the very last thing that stood between herself and the serial killer. In reality, it wasn't anything particularly special, but Lisbon couldn't help but find it imposing in its own way.

That was more than likely because of what it signified. By opening it, she knew that she would be entering the unknown with no chance of backing out, no chance of a reprieve.

Her companion jerked his head slightly, in some sort of a twisted nod. Quizzically, she cocked her own head to one side before placing her hand on the cold doorknob.

Her heart had started beating its military tattoo against her rib cage once more. If Jane were here, Lisbon knew that he would probably describe her pulse as thready or something.

But he wasn't here. Because she was doing this with only minimal backup, so that he didn't have to risk his own life once more. He had already made one disastrous mistake when trying to kill red John. As far as she was concerned, it was simply fortuitous that Timothy carter had turned out to be a bad man as well. She wasn't sure how she would have dealt with the concept of Jane will fully slaughtering an entirely innocent man.

It was now or never.

She turned the handle.

Painfully slowly, the door swung open. The inhabitants of the cellar fell into a hushed silence. All five of them knew she was coming; not one of them questioned her presence.

"Welcome," said the one in the center, again in that familiar warm tone she'd heard outside.

"No," she murmured, more to herself than anybody else.

Lisbon swiftly removed her gun from its holster, but his friends were quicker.

Slowly but surely, he removed the mask obscuring his features. She froze like a rabbit caught in the headlights. But she had disregarded this, had considered it to be impossible. Jane couldn't...

He ignored the gun in her hands and closed the distance between them. With deft fingertips running up and down her spine, he made her shudder to her every touch. Just as he had done so the night before, in her bedroom at home. This man knew exactly what her trigger points were, just how to turn her on and when. It had taken him years to learn that very fact.

But this was insanity. How the hell could Patrick Jane be the very man he had vowed to kill? How did that work?

She was almost thinking too hard about the very fact before he firmly placed his lips against her own. Autonomously, she granted him access, allowing his tongue to deftly explore her mouth. Lisbon whimpered as his teeth pulled sharply across her bottom lip and she was powerless to do anything but respond to his savage, urgent kiss. When he finally released her from his thrall, she was left gasping for air.

Her gun had long since clattered to the floor; she hadn't even realized she had dropped it. Before she even had a chance to retrieve her weapon, somebody else had picked it up. The man now had it trained on her and she found herself glaring at him over her lover's shoulder.

"Yes," Jane hissed down her ear as he pulled away, shortly before peppering a few light kisses to her collarbone. "Anything is possible if you really put your mind to it, Teresa."

Taking a few steps backwards, he turned his back to her and snapped his fingers. The other men, the ones who had remained steely silent during the exchange, were suddenly alert and ready to pounce. Warily, Lisbon glanced from masked face to masked face. If only they would reveal their identities, it wouldn't even matter if she didn't know who they were. There was something exceedingly unnerving about being circled by nameless, faceless people. It made her feel as though she was losing any modicum of power she may have had by approaching this place willingly.

"I'm bored with her now," he said lightly and one of the other men nodded. "You know what to do."

She frowned. They may have known what to do, but that didn't mean she knew what the hell that meant.

All she knew was that she was going to fight her way out of this or die trying.

As far as she was concerned, there were no other options.


	2. Crack

**A/N: **Um, so I seem to be getting longer and longer with these genre fics. Do I blame a. the fact I'm writing Jane and Lisbon, b. Iloveplotbunnies because she provided the genres, c. myself for not being able to be succinct right now, d. Miss Peg, just because or e. some other reason entirely?

Thank you to: Iloveplotbunnies, Kuhlama, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Aeidhryn and anthropologist for reviewing Discordance.

Now for a slice of crazy? Why not, indeed.

x tromana

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><p><strong>Title: <strong>Declarations of Love  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Jane wants to try and win over Lisbon in a very _unique_ way. She's not impressed.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Very minor for season 4.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: crack. Also for mentalistprompt: table G (cat and mouse) and for the Paint It Red February monthly challenge. Phew! Finally, I imagine this set some time in the future, when Red John is no longer an issue. I think that's all for notes now? Yes?

**Declarations of Love**

"Jane! What the hell are you doing in my car?"

Jane grinned sunnily and acted as if it were perfectly normal for him to be found in her vehicle at three thirty in the morning. If they had been in the middle of a case, on the way to a crime scene, then sure, she wouldn't have questioned it. However, Lisbon had literally only just gotten the call from the deputy AG and was about to go and pick him up. She hadn't even had a chance to phone him to let him know she was on her way. So, he had some explaining to do.

"I had a feeling you would be requiring my assistance," he replied politely, but her frown deepened in response.

"Oh really?" she quipped back, disbelievingly.

"Well, no," Jane admitted, "but it sounds a lot better than saying the deputy AG called me first, doesn't it?"

Lisbon instantly relaxed now that she had received a half decent explanation for his actions, surprisingly quickly, all things considered. It was certainly a lot better than the other thoughts and theories that had been running through her mind. Especially so as the other options were all illegal and she didn't fancy having cause or reason to arrest him. It was bad enough that he drove her mad day in, day out at work without dragging legalities into the sorry mess.

Jane smiled and she scowled back at him. She was half asleep and he had given her quite the shock. Hearing his cheery disposition when she was only just beginning to wake up, had yet to have a morning coffee and was cursing the existence of the deputy AG was more than enough to instill a foul mood into her for the rest of the day. Or probably, anyway.

And they still had a dead body to go and see. Yes, it was pretty much destined to be a bad day all around.

xxx

When they got back to the CBI headquarters, seven hours later, Lisbon was still thinking about Jane's admission in her car in the early hours of the morning. It didn't make much sense. He certainly didn't live close enough to her home for his story to add up. She had barely been on the phone for two minutes to the deputy AG, just long enough to get all the information she had required. It had then taken her an additional ten minutes to ensure she at least somewhat resembled a human being and ambled to her car. Jane lived at least forty-five minutes away from her and the CBI headquarters was a good thirty minute drive too. There were no hotels or motels in the vicinity either; she had picked a strictly residential area for good reason. She wanted her home to be an escape from the stresses of work.

So, what the hell had he been doing in her neighborhood then?

As she pondered over this sticking point, she made a detour via the kitchenette. If anybody deserved a nice, strong coffee right now, it was her. With a smile, she headed towards her office. The scent of her hot drink alone was enough to improve her mood considerably.

Catching a certain Patrick Jane rummaging underneath her desk with absolutely no reason to be there, brought her crashing back down to earth, however.

"Jane!"

"What?"

"Under my desk? Really?" she queried, making it blindingly obvious that her levels of patience were being tested to the extreme."

"What about it?" he asked, as he pulled a lollipop out of his mouth.

"Well?" she said, believing that the question didn't really nearly further expansion.

After all, her office was her private sanctuary within the headquarters. Not only was he being disrespectful of her privacy and personal space, but he was giving her cause to question his very sanity. While she had come to expect some level of craziness with Jane, he was acting even more weird than usual.

"Ah. Yes," he answered eventually, still stalling for time. "I thought I had dropped some candy down there."

"When?"

"Hmm? What did you say?"

"I said when did you lose it there?" she replied, stoically ignoring the fact that he was staring pointedly at her legs from his position on the floor.

"Oh I don't know," he answered blithely, waving a hand as he did so. "Sometime last week, I guess?"

"You do realize the cleaners tidy in here daily, don't you?"

"Well they don't do a very good job," Jane retorted, grinning and he stood up to look her in the eyes. "Look at all this dust. I'd complain if I were you."

"Duly noted," she answered back. "Now go find Christine and ask her about your candy."

"Meh. Don't think I want it now."

"That wasn't a request to get out, that was an order!"

"Was it? Well really, you should be clearer with your instructions then, woman."

"Out!"

"I'm going, I'm going."

When he finally left, Lisbon breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, there was something particularly strange going on in Jane's mind today. However, as she sat down and placed her coffee down neatly, she cursed. She never did get an answer as to why he was so close to her house at some godforsaken hour this morning.

xxx

Although they had a case, it was yoga night and Van Pelt was insistent that they still attended. Any and all paperwork could wait until the morning, apparently. And if there was a dire emergency, then Rigsby or Cho could contact them on their cell phones. Lisbon was relieved that their instructor wad understanding enough about their careers to make them exceptions to the general class rules. It meant that they could easily participate without the worry of missing something important at work. Yoga was one of the few classes Lisbon actually found the time to fit in; any other hobbies she had, she found she had to bend around work rather than find them easily accommodating.

She was, however, running late for the class. A management meeting with Wainwright had eaten up more time than she had anticipated. Lisbon had called Grace to let her know she'd be there eventually, but she knew the younger agent would be a little disappointed. Sometimes, there was that look in her eyes which suggested she thought Lisbon worked too hard. Maybe she was right, but the fact of the matter was that somebody had to do it and nine times out of ten, that somebody was her.

Still, at least she was here now. Quickly, she rushed to the locker rooms to change into her sweat pants and vest top. Her usual work attire really wasn't appropriate for yoga, after all. Swiftly, Lisbon organized her belongings before pulling off her work shirt. As she did so, the door swung open. Initially, Lisbon thought nothing of it. It was probably just another latecomer or something. If anything, their presence reassured her somewhat. It meant she wasn't going to have to face the wrath of the instructor alone.

Her reassurance, however, was short lived. When she glanced over her shoulder, she realized her companion was not only masculine, but had a head of all too familiar blond curls as well.

As quickly as she could, she grabbed her shirt once more and held it up in front of her to protect her modesty. Then, she rounded on him, with fire blazing in both her eyes.

"Jane! What the hell do you think you are doing?" she snapped.

"Getting changed for yoga; what does it look like?"

"Why?" she retorted angrily.

"Ah, I thought I would do some research. See if balancing on your head can really solve life's many mysteries."

Lisbon scowled. Obviously he still hadn't quite grasped the point of yoga. In reality, neither had she but that was beside the point. At least she had a genuine interest in trying and if anything, was inspired by Van Pelt's enthusiasm for the activity. Jane, however, was just there to irritate her. Well, that was probably his motive, anyway.

"Why here?"

"Well you come here, Van Pelt comes here. Obviously they must be good at what they do. You don't suffer fools gladly and Van Pelt knows her stuff. She doesn't like to be short changed."

She ignored the fact her cheeks were beginning to warm up, a sure sign that she was blushing. Lisbon also stoically avoided looking directly at her consultant. Especially now, considering he was clad in just his boxer shorts. The fact he was indeed changing amused her more than it should have done; half of her was convinced that the man merely owned three piece suits, all in various shades of brown, gray and black.

"I meant why are you getting changed in the ladies bathroom?"

"This is the ladies?" he inquired, his voice laced with mock innocence. "My mistake. Still, the damage is done. Carry on changing, Lisbon. I promise I won't look."

Lisbon trusted Jane just about as far as she could throw him. She also knew that any promise of his was either sacrosanct or vorticella worthless. For some reason, she suspected that this one would be the latter.

And that this was doomed to be the yoga class from hell.

xxx

"I'm beginning to wonder if you're stalking me," Lisbon stated light heartedly as she grabbed a bar of candy. She didn't care about whatever snide comments he made about it; damn it, she deserved it. After a day like today, chocolate was a necessity, not a luxury.

Jane, however, didn't utter a word. Instead, he picked up a candy bar too – the same one as she had, Lisbon noted – and placed it in his own basket.

"Stalking? No," Jane answered back, smiling. "I'm just picking up some groceries, you know…"

"Miles away from where you live?"

"They always have the best offers on here."

"Oh really?" Lisbon scoffed. As far as she was concerned, a lot of the goods in this specific grocery store were fairly overpriced. However, the convenience of it was what meant she invariably kept coming back to it.

She watched him warily as he picked up some potato chips and some cookies. His selections, at least, made her look incredibly healthy. Then again, food had always been one of Jane's weaknesses and even she knew that he had a particularly sweet tooth. She shouldn't have been surprised that he was more than willing to fill up on garbage.

Lisbon drifted away from him as soon as she had opportunity to do so. She had come here to do her weekly shop, not to socialize with a colleague she saw as frequently as Jane. Besides, it was getting late and she had a date with her television to uphold. It was science fiction night in her household and she was ready to suspend her disbelief for a couple of hours or so before bed.

However, almost as soon as she had shaken him off, Jane seemed to manage to find her again. Each time she saw him, he seemed to have more junk food and tried to ply her with some of it. But she wasn't interested; she did have to keep an eye on her diet, after all. Her job required some level of fitness and she didn't want to make it that much harder by continually filling up on candy and other crap. One chocolate bar on rare occasions wouldn't hurt, but too much more than that would easily become a problem.

Eventually, she gave up running away from him and instead, headed to make her purchases with him. They remained in a companionable silence as they did so, but she couldn't help but notice that Jane's eyes never left her alone. She cursed silently; maybe he was imagining she was still wearing that tight vest top he'd seen her in earlier, or worse, her bra. In reality, she didn't want to know, but it still surprised her somewhat. After all, even she could recognize that the cashier was fairly attractive, if a little young for Jane.

When she headed to the car, Lisbon was relieved that she could finally so goodbye to Jane for the day. She really, really did deserve some peace and quiet now. And some time to stop thinking about work, to stop trying to solve the case when they had barely started working it and to stop worrying about what the hell was wrong with Patrick Jane.

She also had an impending headache too. That was something which she wanted to nip in the bud as soon as possible. Some Tylenol once she got through the door at home would do the trick, she considered.

xxx

When she found him camping out in her closet, Lisbon knew that she should have been shocked. Instead, she was only faintly surprised and found herself glaring irritably at him. After all, he had been springing up on her in all sorts of weird places today, so what was one more to add to the list? His latest hiding place just had to be one of the most personal. He wouldn't have been Jane if he didn't break down a few barriers like that. But breaking and entering was a felony, as she constantly reminded him, but naturally, her complaints always fell on deaf ears. Surprisingly enough, she wasn't particularly annoyed by it; the situation was absurd enough for her to see the funny side of it. Besides, he seemed to have camped himself up quite comfortably there; all the junk food she'd seen him buy just hours earlier was pooled at his feet. Briefly, she wondered if he had been planning this for a while.

Lisbon was just relieved that she was decently dressed. Or that she was wearing her bathrobe rather than just her old pajamas, at the very least. Otherwise, this incident could have been a thousand times more humiliating than the one they had endured at the gym. She still hadn't forgiven him for making a mockery out of the yoga class, even if she had expected it before they'd even entered the room. And she swore that she had caught him ogling at him while she'd changed her pants, despite the fact he had promised not to.

She smirked. Anyone would think he hadn't seen bare human flesh before.

"What are you trying to do? Wear down my patience so thoroughly that I'll sack you?" Lisbon asked.

Jane rubbed the back of his head; it was something he did whenever he felt guilty. Reluctantly, he stepped out of her closet and looked desperately at her. Lisbon frowned. Sometimes, she wished there was such a thing as psychics. That she was one and that she could read Jane's mind. It would certainly make things a hell of a lot easier than trying to work out what was going on in that strange brain in his. He really was a bizarre creature. It was something he seemed to know, seemed to revel in, even, but Lisbon wanted to know him better, simply to make working with him that little bit easier.

"Not exactly," he mumbled guiltily.

"Well, what are you trying to do then?"

"Catch your attention?" he said hopefully.

"You do that anyway," she grumbled. After all, it was his fault she had piles of paperwork that multiplied like rabbits.

Jane reached out to touch her, but Lisbon pulled away. As she did so, he looked momentarily hurt, before he managed to gather together his poker face once more. Was that the problem? That she wasn't being tactile enough with him?

But they _were_ tactile. She let him touch her in ways where other men would earn themselves a kick in the groin. Lisbon let him clasped hold of her wrist, touch the small of her back and so on, without even a second thought. She stared at him, until finally comprehension dawned.

It wasn't the lack of touch that was bothering him. It was the lack of meaning behind the touch.

This level of crazy she had been subjected to in the past twenty four hours was his madcap way of telling her that he wanted to move their relationship onto the next level. That he was ready to put the past behind him and start afresh.

That he saw her as more than just a good – a very good – friend.

And if she was entirely honest with herself, something she struggled to be on occasion, the feeling was more than entirely mutual.

In a swift motion, she closed the gap between them. With confidence, she wrapped an arm around his waist, one of the most forthcoming moves she'd ever done on him, rolled onto the tip of her toes and allowed her lips to briefly touch his. Shocked at herself, she pulled away tentatively, but Jane pulled her back in for a second, more passionate embrace. It surprised her just how willingly she offered herself to him, on a silver platter, almost. Whenever she had previously allowed her thoughts to wander down such pathways, she had always imagined herself resisting, fighting against the inevitable. Lisbon had always believed that the fact she had always been more than happy to be alone was because she thrived as a lone wolf. She didn't _need_ male company. It was enjoyable, yes, but it didn't make her any better a person.

In truth, it was probably because she already had her eye on one (broken) individual. Of course, having a relationship with him wouldn't change her as a person much, but it would be nice to have somebody to come home to every night. The fact that they would be going to work together as well was irrelevant.

When they finally took a break for air, Lisbon smiled wryly at him. This had to be the strangest way for someone to admit their affections for somebody else she had ever known. Then again, it was Jane. Only he would see stalking as being a sign of endearment.

"You know, you could have made this a whole lot easier."

"How?"

"You could have just _asked_."


	3. Noir

**A/N:** So it turns out that I actually had planned to post this a while ago and completely forgot to do so. But hey, I've been splitting my time between work, doctors appointments and sleep. So yes, I apologise. Good news, I think this migraine is very nearly on its way out. And I'm rattling with painkillers as a consequence of trying to get rid of it.

Anyway.

Thank you to: iloveplotbunnies, anthropologist, Wldwmn, Ebony10, Brown Eyes Parker, TwlightLover-CarlisleandEsme and Aeidhryn for reviewing _Declarations of Love_.

This new one is a little out of the old comfort zone, but I guess that's the point of this challenge...

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>dancing on the edge of the precipice  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary:<strong> [AU] Jane needs to work out what Lisbon's intentions are. _She_ has to stop herself from falling for him.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine. A line of this is even borrowed from The Lion King. That's how little I own.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: noir. Also for mentalistprompt: table G (not anymore)

**dancing on the edge of the precipice**

She flicked the ash from her cigarette before stamping it out with the sharp point of her stilettoed heel. As she sauntered along the dank passageway, her tight crimson red dress clung effortlessly to her curves. She really was a vision of beauty, what with that dress, her shining chocolate brown curls and her ruby red lips...

The easy smile that traced across her delicate features was forced, however.

He could tell that from just the one glance.

Not that he had taken just the one look at her, mind. If she was going to dress to kill, then she had to expect more than a few admiring glances to be shot in her general direction. There was precedence, after all. And really, only a certain type of woman dressed that way in these parts.

Extinguishing his own cigarette, he hurried to catch up with her. He was bored. Life had long since stopped providing him with certain luxuries and she seemed like ideal recompense. Or at least, like she would be willing to show him a good time, if only for a brief period of time.

She eyed him warily; understandable given the fact he had given her little warning of his approach. Her eyes quickly flicked up and down, giving him the casual once over before they settled on his face. Unlike many, she wasn't afraid of a little eye contact. That was intriguing to say the least. Many women found his penetrating gaze overwhelming and gave in to the automatic urge to glance away. The very fact that she could maintain it and not only that, but look impatient for him to actually engage her in conversation, was all the more alluring.

Eventually, she huffed an impatient sigh, cocked her head just so to the left and planted her hands on those rather curvaceous hips of hers.

"Well?" she said, sounding a little irritated.

Silently, he offered her another cigarette. She shook her head, her hair bouncing off of her shoulders. Shrugging noncommittally, he slipped the packet back into his vest pocket after he'd selected one for himself. She watched as he made a grand gesture out of fishing out his lighter. He was only faintly surprised that she hadn't grown impatient and gotten her own out of her purse. Then again, she wasn't exactly the type to be helpful. Look, but do not touch and all that jazz. The flicker of a flame gave him brief warmth against his freezing fingertips, but was soon out once more. It was, however, present long enough to set his cigarette alight.

With a smile, he took a deep drag of it. He breathed out through his mouth and they both watched as the smoke wisped its way back into the night sky.

Then, he took the time to regard her some more. His first looks, they had all been based on her physical form, the way she exuded sexual prowess. Now he was that little bit closer, he wanted to take the opportunity to work on what was going on in that pretty little mind of hers. Find out exactly what it was that made her _tick_.

For that was how he enjoyed spending his time. Working out how people worked, what their strengths were and more importantly, what their flaws and weaknesses were. After all, that was where he made his money. That was how he gathered his information to sell whatever con it was he was trying to sell. That was how he fooled so many people and made his fortune.

Except, now, the people of this dried up town were beginning to wise up to his antics. None of them were illegal, so they hadn't had cause to get him arrested. They were immoral, perhaps, but there were no laws against being an amoral charlatan. He'd checked repeatedly, just to be sure. After all, laws changed to fit the society, not the other way around, contrary to popular belief.

"You're new in town," he stated after a while.

She rolled her eyes. It didn't take a _psychic_ to work that one out.

"And?"

"Just unusual, is all," he said honestly.

With a quick glance away, she started to walk onwards. Clearly, the conversation was boring her; it wasn't stimulating enough. He smiled. That was a _good_ thing. This meant she was going to be a challenge. He hadn't had one of them in a while. Conquests that surrendered too quickly, too easily took half the fun out of the situation. And he thrived upon making things _fun_. Without that, he grew bored and irritable.

"How so?" she inquired. Just politely enough not to seem rude, but abrupt enough to suggest that she didn't want her time wasting. He had to keep this brief he wanted to keep her interested.

"People get attached to places," he replied, again with the noncommittal shrug. "And the locals don't tend to like to be disturbed. Visitors never stay long."

"I never said I was going to stay long, did I?"

"No, you didn't," he agreed.

She fell silent again. It wasn't exactly companionable, but then again, it didn't imply discomfort in the situation either. No, he considered that his mystery woman was simply aloof, which was different to the kind of woman he was used to dealing with.

The question was what had made her so aloof, so distant from the world? What personal trauma had meant that she thought that this was the ideal mode of living? There was nothing worse than being lonely; he knew that for a fact. His loneliness had meaning, however. He was on a quest, for vengeance, for blood. Couldn't let other people get involved in such depravity as that. It wasn't fair to drag them down, for a start. Especially so if it wasn't their choice.

But that didn't stop him from seeking out people as a distraction, an interlude during the quiet periods. Sometimes, he needed reminding just what it was to be human. There was nothing like the brief touch of human flesh. The warm, secure and regular touch of feminine hands was something he'd been deprived of since the death of his wife and daughter.

"So what brings you to this godforsaken hole?"

"If you think this is a godforsaken hole, then why do you stay?"

"Ah, deflection. Clever," he remarked.

"I try." A coy smile traced over her features. Yes, he liked that a lot. "Well?"

"I have my reasons."

"And maybe I'll tell you mine if you let me buy you a drink sometime."

Her hand rested gently upon the handle of the motel door. The look in her eye suggested she was sorely tempted, or so he hoped. After all, she couldn't have gotten all dressed up for no apparent reason and the night was still young. However, she shook her head firmly and pushed the door ajar. Obviously, he had to try harder.

"You never answered," he stated as she took a step inside.

"Maybe I'll tell you if you buy me that drink some _other_ time," she answered back, twisting his words straight back at him. "I'm busy, Mr. Jane. See you around."

As she walked away and upstairs, he watched her through the frosted glass window. The way she sashayed meant she quite obviously knew that she had a captive audience, that he was watching her every move. She didn't want to give away all of her secrets, not just in the first, brief encounter. She wanted to keep something hidden back, just as he did.

Grumbling, he extinguished his cigarette butt and turned away. The moonlight cast shadows down the silent street. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he ambled away, his mind full of jumbled thoughts.

Jane had never told her his name. How the hell had she known it?

And more to the point, he'd never caught hers, either.

That, he surmised, was probably intentional.

xxx

She kicked off her heels, wincing as she did so. If there was one thing she hated more than being forced to wear stilettoes, it was the blisters that resulted. Tentatively, she touched her red raw heel, wincing as she did so. When her fingers came back a sticky crimson - her blood - she sighed. Perfection always came at a price.

Still, at least she had succeeded in stage one of her plan: ensnaring one Patrick Jane. And it had all been so easy. Her boss had warned her that Jane was as con artist by nature, as slippery as an eel but she had been skeptical. Regardless of all his attributes thanks to his job and training, there was one thing he couldn't change and that was the fact he was man. She had learned when she was young - too young some might have said - that men were interested in one thing and one thing only. That, of course, was sex. It just took a little time to build up a certain facade, a particular image and she could have many a man as putty in her hands.

That was a skill she oft found herself abusing in her role as a private investigator. It was also one of her key selling points, one of the painfully few reasons she managed to get jobs in this day and age. Sometimes, the very concept of women working still seemed stuck in the dark ages, never mind in a role as male dominated as investigations. It saddened her, in a way. She knew she was amongst the best of the best in her chosen profession and yet, for the simple fact she was born a woman, a good many of her potential clientele passed her over in favor of a man.

Not this client, however. He had used her on a fair few occasions and always paid a healthy wage, certainly significantly more than the usual going rate. She had never actually had the opportunity to meet him face to face but she knew that he was the same person based on the rather unique way he chose to sign his letters and instructions.

Not with a signature or even just initialing, but with a bright red smiley face.

She had taken to referring to this specific client as Red John, for what else was she supposed to call him?

Picking up his latest letter, she reclined on the bed, resting her head on the duck down pillow. The moon provided her with just enough light to be able to read; there was no point in switching on the lamp light and having that fierce brightness offend her so With a critical eye, she re-read each and every instruction, making a mental note of what she was meant to be doing next.

Winning his trust.

Making him fall in love with her.

Bringing him back to Sacramento, California.

Finding damning evidence of how and why this man was a charlatan and a crook. Something, anything that could bring him down in the eyes of the law.

All in all, it was a relatively simple task, as far as she was concerned. It was slightly unusual in her line of work, but simple all the same. It just required a woman's touch and the ability to not grow too attached to the man. Otherwise, that would cloud her judgment; stop her from carrying out her task as quickly and efficiently as she ordinarily would. And that would never do.

Pulling the duvet over her lithe form, she didn't bother to remove the red dress. As far as she was concerned, it was little more than negligee anyway. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to switch off her racing mind. She had achieved task one with overwhelmingly simplicity. That was always a good sign.

xxx

With a cocktail stick, she fished the olive out of her margarita and placed it teasingly between her swollen lips. Jane watched with eagle eyes as she took her time chewing it, before swallowing and taking a long sip of her drink. The devilish look in her eyes suggested that she knew full well just how much she was teasing him and that she didn't care. She was determined to torture him for as long as feasibly possible. Almost as if it were her job to act in such a provocative manner.

He had met with this woman more than fifty times in the past few months and he still found her just as intriguing as the first time he'd clapped eyes on her. That, of course, was no mean feat. For a start, his distractions were usually a lot more fleeting and meaningless. There was just something about her which made him keep coming back for more.

Jane considered that it was most likely the fact she was one of the very few women who knew just how to say no to him. That was a very rare accolade, for his devilish good looks - the blond curls, the dazzling smile - made most women go weak at the knees. Unless, of course, he had swindled them in the past and then they generally avoided coming within a two hundred meter radius of him.

Then there was the other, far more important matter.

Teresa Lisbon, as he now knew she was called, appeared to be just as interested in him as he was in her.

She was still yet to tell him precisely why she was in town. However, all clues suggested that it was for him and him alone. Jane had caught her talking to various individuals, trying desperately to dig up the dirt on him. And naturally, with a flick of her dark brown hair and a pout of her sultry lips, she denied it. Claimed that his roguish, scoundrel past only intrigued her and made her want to know what she was getting into. After all, he seemed awfully intrigued by her, as well…

He'd have believed her if her tells hadn't been so damn obvious. The way she blinked a little too fast, how she couldn't hold his gaze whenever she did so, and the defensive folding of her arms.

That meant there was only a handful of reasons as to why she was investigating him so thoroughly and none of them good.

He was determined to find out exactly why and tonight.

If that meant speeding things along and seducing her, then so be it.

xxx

She craned her head back and arched her spine as she did so. That gave him the perfect access to the tender flesh of her neck - one of her particularly weak spots - a situation which he promptly abused. As he teased her skin with delicate butterfly kisses along her collarbone, she found her self-control weakening. Her whole body hummed with anticipation and they hadn't really gotten anywhere yet.

This was not good.

It was never a part of her plan. Get him to fall under her spell, to fall in love with her, yes, but the feelings were never meant to be reciprocated. She was meant to stay cool and aloof, remain the lonely wolf.

She could never do her job if she let herself got attached to the marks. If she did, then that would be so terribly unprofessional. And that just wouldn't work.

So what the hell was so different about Patrick Jane? What was it about him that saw her free falling and doing nothing to stop it? If anything, on occasion, she could have been seen to be actively encouraging it.

Where the hell had her self-control gone? It had always been so damn easy for her to separate work from any _feelings_in the past.

Lisbon knew just how dangerous Jane was. Her dossier on him contained enough damning evidence as it was. She should have been trying to make a swift getaway, not luring him into her bed.

But despite all of her work for Red John, despite everything she knew about Jane, it happened all the same.

When his lips came crashing down on hers, she met them and matched his fervor. The kiss was as raw and savage as it was passionate. Each of them found themselves battling for supremacy, with tongues dueling, teeth nipping and biting and hands raking over naked flesh.

And when one of his skillful hands finally descended down over her exposed abdomen and lower still, she found herself biting hard on her lips to stop herself from gasping out in sheer ecstasy. She didn't want to give him the pleasure of knowing exactly what she liked or risk giving him reason to expand his already over-inflated ego.

Instead she made a private mental note stating that this was exactly why she had not resisted, just as she should have and had been able to do so up until this point.

xxx

He traced circles over her alabaster skin smiling as she slept peacefully. It was a mindless activity, but he was more than happy to indulge in the touch. After all, it had taken him a good long while to talk, to coerce, to persuade her to join him in bed. _Months_. Normally, when he set his mind on somebody or something, he got it pretty damn quickly. But this woman, this _trophy_, had taken all of his powers of persuasion.

Jane wasn't the most patient of people but even he was aware of just how much she was worth it. The reward was testament to the amount of energy he'd spent on her.

After she'd dozed off into her quiet slumber, he'd vacated her bed for a while. This wasn't a cheap motel, he knew that for starters, so he wanted to find out just how she could afford such rates. Lisbon hadn't seemed to show any real desire to seek out employment since landing in this dump. Instead, she appeared to spend most of her time poking her nose into his business, something which he didn't much appreciate. That was the kind of subterfuge he operated with; having it inflicted upon him settled uneasily on his soul.

But he'd found out a great deal of useful information in his brief search. Though she had always attempted to be fiercely private, sometimes a woman just ended up wearing her heart on her sleeve. In Lisbon's case, that meant the bedroom. She didn't appear to think it necessary to keep anything hidden from view there.

The letters were resting upon the bedside table and Jane attempted to avoid looking at them. He'd spent a good twenty minutes reading them all, absorbing each and every detail. Of course he didn't have her replies to these correspondences, but they told him enough to fill in the gaps.

What had shaken him the most was precisely who they were from.

His nemesis, his opponent, his adversary.

Lisbon's employer was the man who had ruthlessly slaughtered his wife and daughter, just because Jane had told the world the truth about him.

Did that mean he had just sold his soul to the devil? Had he crept into bed with the enemy? He'd been growing so very fond of her as well. Jane liked the quirk of her lips whenever he amused her so. The way she folded her arms defensively whenever she felt offended or nervous or uncomfortable for whatever reason in a situation. How she stubbed out her cigarettes using the sharp point of her heel, almost as if it were second nature for her to do so.

And though she hadn't been all that willing to open up, it had never crossed his mind that she could have been out to do wrong, to haunt him on behalf of greater powers.

But that was mostly because he didn't think she was evil. No, she seemed to have no clue whatsoever who or what she was working for. She needed the money and he was one of the few people to pay for her services. Female private investigators were painfully rare and there was a good reason for that. Women didn't want their husbands falling for them. Men didn't like feeling like they'd been bettered by the fairer sex.

So, she'd had to take what she could get.

He couldn't blame her for that, after all, that was how he'd lived his life too. Except, he'd never claimed to make an honest living out of it, whereas she did. Jane knew full well the moral ambiguity of his standings. That pretending to be in contact with the deceased to make a quick buck was almost as low as you could get.

However, there were no guarantees that Teresa Lisbon actually knew what Red John did with the evidence she gathered on his behalf. She didn't necessarily know that her employer was a killer, that he used anything she gathered to make people's lives a living nightmare.

Nor did she know that Red John had already killed Jane's family. That he hadn't required her expertise to discover that he had been a family man.

As she mumbled incoherently in her sleep, slowly beginning to wake from her sleep, he formulated a plan.

This woman required educating and fast. He was confident that he would be able to save her from herself (and Red John) with just a few choice actions and words.

He knew he didn't _need_ to do it. Normally, his gut instinct would have been to cut somebody like that down to size. However, this time was different. This time he felt like he had reason to help her and not just because he was physically attracted to her and she challenged him.

Despite every intention not to be, he'd grown increasingly fond of his petite, fierce private investigator.

Jane just couldn't bring himself to tar her with the same brush he ordinarily would have done. He just _couldn't._

xxx

Her hand flew to her mouth at the sight.

The bodies were long gone; it would have been ridiculous if they were still present, decomposing and disintegrating, but it didn't take much for her to imagine them.

Jane had kept the master bedroom in the exact same way as he'd discovered it on that fateful day, excepting stripping the bed of the sheets. Blood had seeped through the long-gone bedclothes, however, and the mattress was stained crimson. How could anyone have done such a thing? Especially to an innocent child, that had been ruthlessly slaughtered due to her father's fallacy.

Lisbon had never known much about Red John. She had investigated him on the sly, of course. It would have been foolish for her not to know what she was getting herself into. However, as violently private as she was, he was even more so. Despite being one of the best at her job (as she was very proud to admit to being), she hadn't been able to find hide nor hair on her near-silent employer.

Until now, of course.

Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from the old mattress and stared bitterly on the wall. It was just like the way he signed his correspondences. Except larger, of course, like a blown up copy that had been transferred onto the magnolia wall. And, more importantly, daubed in deep red blood. The tang of iron present in the room was more than tangible. It was almost overwhelming.

When it all grew too much, she made a hasty retreat out of the room in order to prevent herself from vomiting.

After a while, Jane closed the bedroom door and joined her out in the front yard. The moon cast shadows over his face as she looked up at him, shaking as she did so. How the hell was she to know that Red John's hands were covered in blood?

That was, if this was the work of Red John at all. And even then, it was always possible that Jane himself was that figure shrouded in mystery. This could have been so convoluted trick to expose him, to bring her closer to him.

To finish her off the way he'd done so his family?

"The local cops know. They haven't been able to do a thing."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Why would I tell them if I did it?"

"Are you sure you're not psychic."

"Don't be ridiculous; it's written all over your face."

Lisbon frowned. She didn't like the fact that Jane could practically read minds, even if he claimed not to do so. How else had he been able to swindle so much money out of the innocent before they clued into just what he'd been doing and why?

"I didn't send you those letters, Teresa," he said, honestly. "But I do like your tenacity."

"Thanks, I guess," she replied dubiously.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, staring up at the stars twinkling in the night sky. Their innocence was almost offensive, considering the revelations that she'd had to endure. Lisbon had always prided herself on working for the good of people, of giving them answers when all hope was lost. To discover that somebody had abused her principles so thoroughly was sickening to the stomach. Then, there was the fact that she hadn't been able to carry out her job as privately as she'd have liked. Patrick Jane had seen through each and every one of her plans. Nobody had done that before; they were usually too distracted by the façade she presented them with to care about what else she was doing.

She felt weary, tired. Her whole world had been turned upside down and now, she didn't know where to move. If Red John had slaughtered Jane's family before she had even come on the scene, which suggested that he was quicker, cleverer than she had ever anticipated. Lisbon wanted to get even with him, but knew that he would realize her intentions almost immediately. If Jane could see right through her, then Red John, who had years of knowledge and experience working with her, would be able to tell immediately. And if she didn't finish off her task in hand, what did that mean for her eventual fate? Whatever that would be, she sensed there would be certain amount of finality to it. Death, to put it very bluntly.

"What do I do?"

"Run. Run away and never return."

If the situation hadn't been so dire, she would have laughed at the ominous tone in his voice.

"Why?"

"It's the only chance you have, Teresa."

"And how do you propose I do that? It's impossible to just disappear."

Gently, he allowed his hand to cover hers. She didn't flinch at the touch, there was no point. If anything she found it comforting. It reminded her that, despite her mistakes, she was still human. Still flawed. Jane had made some terrible errors of judgment in his life and so had she. It was forgivable to do so. And besides, it wasn't as if she hadn't tried to uncover some of the secrets of Red John.

"I never said you were going to have to do this alone, did I?"

She smiled weakly.

"And what about Red John? We can't let him get away with this."

"We're not just going to be running. We'll bring him down, too."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It won't be, but we've got to _try_."


	4. Dystopia

**A/N:** I need to stop uploading documents with the intention to update and then get distracted. I also really need to hurry up and finish writing my final genres as the deadline is looming.

Thank you to: Aeidhryn, lolly2222, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Frogster and Ebony10 for reviewing dancing on the edge of precipice.

Another AU one, here... (and I haven't even begun writing my actual genre of AU yet...)

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Do Not Pass Go  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon friendship  
><strong>Summary:<strong> [AU] Jane, giving into the regime. Lisbon, trying to look for the positives.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: dystopia. Also for mentalistprompt:013: distractions. Title as in monopoly, yeah, I know...

**Do Not Pass Go**

"We _can_ do something."

Jane laughed. It was a bitter, hollow laugh, one of a man that had all but given up. Lisbon stood and paced around the room, little more than a bunk hole; it irritated her, in a way. How could he feel like that? How could he just stop fighting, bury his head in the sand and pretend that it would all blow over sooner or later. His apathy was exactly what they wanted. It was exactly how society dictated they should be.

And she had had enough.

"It's easy for you to say that," he stated lightly.

"Really? How so?"

"You haven't lost anyone to Red John."

Her eyes darkened as she rounded to face him. How dare he? How _dare_ he? Patrick Jane may have been blessed with cognitive abilities that were far beyond her own, but that didn't mean he had the first clue of just how much she had lost to Red John. And how much more she could stand to lose if they just gave up and let them walk of over them.

Only three days ago, she'd watched her niece be torn away from her father, kicking and screaming. Who knew what was to become of her? If she was lucky, if it could even be phrased as luck at all, then poor Annabeth would be subjected to torture and death. If not, well, she was doomed to join the cult of Red John. Become an acolyte for his lord and master. Become a thoughtless killer, trained to torture and destroy lives without even giving a second thought to it.

Just thinking about Annabeth's potential fates made Lisbon want to punch something. However, she restrained herself. There was no point in lashing out, risking damage to herself and others. If she did, then she wouldn't be able to physically cope with the situation. If she did, everything could get all the more dire. But she'd promised Tommy that she'd look after him and her niece; they were all they had left. Their other brothers had disappeared and they were unable to contact them. It was safer that way. Or at least, that was what she told herself. That no news was good news. But still, she'd failed Tommy and his family dismally and Lisbon wasn't used to that.

The difference was obvious, however. Jane's losses to Red John were amongst the first to occur; when Red John had simply appeared to be a serial killer, who liked to play mind games with people. If only they had known just how dangerous those mind games were, back then, then maybe they would have taken his threats even more seriously than they had originally done so. If they'd known that he was slowly brainwashing the masses until he eventually had the power to take over the whole state and then, the United States, then maybe they would have done everything in their resources to stop him.

But now, it was too late. They were fighting a losing battle. Each day, Lisbon prayed for news that Red John's power was weakening, that he was beginning to be undermined somehow. Or that the other superpowers of the world were going to manage to overthrow him, instead of live in fear of the psychotic man and the cult he'd set up to protect himself. It was never good news, though and that alone was enough to drain her spirit and optimism. However, it wasn't enough to stop her from fighting against the regime. Nothing would be enough to stop her from doing that. Lisbon swore she would have to stop breathing before she admitted defeat to Red John. He was, after all, just a man. A man who happened to exert a lot of power over people, but that didn't mean he didn't have his flaws and weaknesses just like any other man did.

Much to her surprise, it seemed like Jane had hit the wall a few too many times. That was something Lisbon never thought she'd see. In the beginning, Jane swore blind that he would exact his revenge upon Red John and obviously, he hadn't succeeded in doing so, yet. Once upon a time, she had promised him that if he tried, then she'd have arrested him. Now, she was more than happy to help him along or preferably, stick the knife in herself a couple of times. It was the least his supposed almighty deserved for the pain and misery he was causing the masses.

She eventually stopped pacing and sat down beside him. Gently, Lisbon covered his hand with her own and smiled weakly. It was just a phase, she told herself. Their living conditions were getting to him, the losses they'd endured and seen other people suffer were dragging him down. Cho and Rigsby hadn't gotten hold of any food for three days and their rations were beginning to grow scarily thin. Van Pelt had received the devastating news that her father had gone down fighting the regime; an honorable death, but a heartbreaking loss nevertheless. They had so little to celebrate and all the more problems to dwell over.

But they had each other. They were still alive. And they weren't going to give up, however fierce the enemy appeared. Despite being the obvious underdogs, they were tenacious.

And there was still hope. So long as they had that, then there was no saying what they could do.

"We _can_ do this," she asserted once more.

Sometimes, there were days when she wished she could do more, that she could act on the feelings she was desperately repressing. But it wasn't appropriate, it wasn't right. It didn't stop her from wishing though. Maybe in another life, if things were simpler, then maybe they'd have had half a chance. Or maybe, if things did eventually change for the better, then they could move on together. There were times when he did show the slightest indication that her feelings were reciprocated, but like her, he seemed to repress them. Neither of them could deal with the distraction of a romance, anyway.

"Lisbon, I appreciate your optimism, really I do, but-"

There was a knocking at the door. Lisbon glanced at Jane and he stared intently back. Cho and Rigsby weren't due back until nightfall. Tommy hadn't emerged from his sleeping quarters; Lisbon knew he was grieving for his daughter, despite the fact they had no knowledge of her fate. As for Van Pelt, she had decided to take the risky move of getting back to her mother, of trying to support and protect her. To maybe encourage her to return to the safety of their fold, where their relatively large number of six could protect her. None of them had particularly liked the idea, but they had supported her nevertheless. Despite the current climate, each one had a deep understanding of the importance of family, both blood and the less literal sense. They needed people they could trust. And the more the resistance grew, the more chance they had of overthrowing it.

Jane nodded at Lisbon as she rose to her feet once more. Slightly unsteadily, and with her hand resting on her gun in its holster, she made her way to the metal door. With a shaking hand, she slowly twisted open the door knob…


	5. Fairytale

**A/N: **So I've been neglectful about updating. You'd have thought having a holiday would make me actually update faster. But hey, I went to London, met up with Miss Peg, saw Wicked and met the cast afterwards. (I love stage dooring sometimes.) So yes, been busy, but fun times.

Thank you to: MerriWyllow, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme and Frogster for reviewing _Do Not Pass Go._

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Dream a Little Dream  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary:<strong> A short story about princesses, wizards and jesters for the kids.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: fairytale. mentalistprompt: once upon a time...

**Dream a Little Dream**

Once upon a time there was a princess. She didn't live in an enchanted castle or in the middle of a forest, like most princesses did. They were too boring, too pretty for her and too fancy for her. Besides, they made her feel uncomfortable, like she was better than the people she was set to rule over. This princess believed in equality, hope, faith and most importantly, the law. Princess Teresa didn't like living like a princess. Instead, she worked undercover, as a cop, because she wanted to give something back to the people that had looked after her so well as a child. Her parents had tragically died when she was very young and despite the fact the people loved her, she felt like she owed it to them. So that was why Princess Teresa worked with the people instead of for them.

The people were very disappointed when their princess disappeared, because so few of them knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. Nor did they know that she did intend to return once she felt she had paid her dues. However, one of the few people who did know was her court jester, Patrick Jane. He was sent by the princess' brother, Prince Tommy, to persuade her to come back. That the people didn't feel like she owed them anything, except being on the throne, where she belonged. If Patrick the jester proved his worth, then he would have the opportunity to marry the princess, if she loved him too. After all, the princess was a very strong and powerful woman. She couldn't have been forced into marrying anyone, even if they tried very hard.

However, there was a catch. The court jester didn't want to do this job, feeling how he did. He loved the princess, but not with his whole heart. His first wife and daughter had been killed by an evil wizard by the name of Red John. If Red John were to be killed by either the jester, Patrick Jane, or the princess herself, then he would be willing to use his charms to persuade her to come back. Because then, he would be capable of loving her entirely. However, Princess Teresa was clever. She immediately recognized her jester from her old life and knew that her brother had sent him to watch over her. However, she liked Patrick Jane and she didn't say a word. She also liked the fact there was somebody nearby to remind her of her old life, before she sacrificed everything to do good.

Unfortunately, the task of catching Red John was a lot more difficult than it sounded. Red John was clever and manipulative. He made a lot of his followers believe that he was an innocent man and that he was in the right. Sometimes, he even managed to persuade these people to kill for him. One day, he convinced the evil witch Rebecca to kill the one of the princess' best friends, which made her very sad. Even Patrick Jane, the jester wasn't able to cheer her up for a good long while.

The worst thing which happened to her was when her right hand man, Kimball, was killed by the wizard. Kimball fought bravely, but it saddened Princess Teresa and everyone she worked with. It made them all feel like the evil Red John was winning, despite all of their best efforts. He seemed all-powerful and like there was no hope in ever being able to bring him down. They had lost two people who had meant a lot to them in such a short period of time. Like Patrick, Princess Teresa found herself promising to capture Red John before she even thought about doing anything else. She had to, in memory of her closest friends, the ones who had protected her identity since she had started living amongst the people.

It took them a whole year's hard work to find out Red John's current location. He knew they were after him, so he had taken it upon himself to disappear, as the princess had from her own people. Red John was a powerful wizard and all wizards are scared of one thing: death. When the princess and her jester discovered his location, he knew that they would kill him in the name of all that was good and the law. The wizard had killed a good number of people in order to make himself as powerful as possible. They also knew that he wouldn't think twice about killing the princess, or her faithful jester, because he was that evil. So, when they got to the wizard's secret hideout, Princess Teresa handed Patrick a magic wand. She didn't usually trust him with them, because he was often reckless and silly, but she understood that he needed to defend himself. With a nod, she placed a hand on door handle and they crept inside.

Red John was waiting for them there, looking as menacing as ever.

"I'm glad you could finally join me," he said, "but I'm going to have to cut this meeting short, for now it's time for you to-"

xxx

Grace Van Pelt leaned up against the doorframe with a wistful smile traced across her features. Her husband was such a soft touch sometimes, despite his tough guy physical appearance. It had taken them a long time to realize they were destined to be together and of course, they had seemed to have taken the longest route imaginable but that didn't matter. Not anymore, at any rate. She had everything she needed now. She had a fantastic job, family and friends. Most importantly, she had her beautiful baby daughter who probably didn't appreciate her father's energetic storytelling quite as much as he'd have liked. This was the good part of the tale; the stand-off. And besides, it always made her laugh whenever he tried to mimic Lisbon's voice. Jane's too, for that matter. Only he would think to use real life to tell their daughter the stories of the people who were important to them.

Once he concluded with a rather clichéd (and most definitely not true to real life) 'and they all lived happily ever after,' she closed the distance between them. Placing one hand on his waist, she gently guided him around and kissed him chastely. He didn't like big, expressive displays of affection in front of their little girl; he claimed they were too humiliating for her. Grace, naturally, disagreed. There was nothing wrong with demonstrating just how much you loved somebody, as far as she was concerned. And besides, at just four months old, their daughter lacked the capacity to deem whether or not something was that embarrassing.

"I think you may have exaggerated your tale," she remarked lightly.

"Only a little," he protested.

"Do you really think they'll get their happy ending?" she asked.

"I don't know. I hope so," he admitted, leading her out of the nursery. The tale had done its job; the little girl was fast asleep. "They deserve it and besides, stranger things have happened."


	6. Mind Transfer

**A/N:** Sorry for the massive delay in updating this collection. All 15 stories have been written, so I'm hoping to rattle through the posting of them now.

Thank you to: MerriWyllow, Wldwmn, Brown Eyes Parker and TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing_ Dream a Little Dream._

This one veers a little into crack/sci-fi territory, due to the subject nature.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Dislocation  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary:<strong> A scientific breakthrough, which Jane ends up being caught in the middle of. An AU ending to 1x10 Red Brick and Ivy.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: Mind Transfer. mentalistprompt: 017: experiment.

**Dislocation**

Lisbon stood, tapping her foot impatiently as she did so. This was going much more slowly than she had anticipated and she wasn't particularly impressed by that. If she'd been more hands on, then maybe she wouldn't have been quite so on edge. As it was, all she could do was wait for the signal from Jane and arrest the perp. She and the team were just here for the formalities and she had to make do with trusting him to carry out his plan. When he'd explained it to her, she hadn't felt comfortable about it and despite Jane's assurances that Minelli had indeed gone for it, she now half-suspected that he'd lied. This was Jane after all; she wouldn't put it past him to lie just so he could make solving a case all the more fun for himself.

Eventually, enough was enough. This was taking far too long. Sophie Miller hadn't even gone to inform Professor Stutzer that the supposed morality machine was working, which meant Jane was stalling. If she didn't find out what the problem was, then Lisbon knew it would drive her mad. She hated leaving Jane to his own devices and for good reason. All this waiting meant to her was that something and she couldn't be sure what, having been shut away in a small room, must have gone wrong.

When she stormed into the control room, intent on giving Sophie a piece of her mind, Lisbon froze. The scientist had immediately turned around when the door had been slammed open and looked a whiter shade of pale. Lisbon automatically glanced through the one way mirror, where Jane was quite obviously still hooked up to the machinery. She furrowed her brow. What the hell was going on?

"There's been a problem," Sophie stated, not even bothering to soften the blow. She had no need to; Lisbon's instincts had told her that she needed to intervene, or at least be updated on the situation.

"Well?"

"It's Jane."

"What's he done?"

"Nothing," Sophie said, sounding nervous.

"Nothing?" Lisbon echoed, incredulous.

"Yes and that's the problem."

"Can I go in there?" she asked.

"Sure," Sophie echoed.

Despite the fact that the data had been fabricated and the whole experiment had been essentially a sham for a year or so, the equipment was still expensive. Scientists were often quite touchy if people went near their toys and therefore Lisbon had automatically asked. She didn't have any intention of interfering with the machinery, but it still felt like something she'd needed to do. After all, for all she knew, it could have posed a threat to life for some obscure reason, unless it was dealt with properly. Or that was the excuse some professors and doctors seemed to use to keep people out of certain rooms and the like. But all she wanted to do was give her consultant a kick up the ass and make him get on with it. Although she was well aware of his insomnia issues and was glad that he was presumably getting some sleep, now was not the time for him to take a cat nap. They had a job to do and this was just wasting precious time that could be spent doing other things. Such as questioning the perp, for one. And besides, she and the rest of the team did want to at least try and get home at a reasonable time tonight. His antics were simply making that less and less likely.

She pushed through the door and walked directly to him. He didn't flinch, didn't react in the slightest to her sudden appearance. That was unusual for somebody as highly attuned to the human psyche as Patrick Jane. In the past, even if he'd been asleep, he had always reacted somehow whenever she'd approached.

"Jane," she stated plainly, before repeating a little louder. "Jane!"

Lisbon placed a hand on his shoulders and shook them gently at first, before getting a little more firm. Panic began to set in when he still remained impassive. If something happened to him, then Lisbon knew she wouldn't forgive herself, even of it wasn't her fault. Even if it turned out that Sophie Miller or someone had somehow played around with the devices to intentionally hurt him, to stop him from solving the case and ruining their reputation as scientists, then she'd still blame herself for allowing him to go through this charade in the first place. Or for agreeing to take on the case; though Jane was assured of Sophie's innocence, there was something about her demeanor which just screamed untrustworthy.

Her eyes scanned the room as she tried desperately to discover what was wrong. However, Lisbon had no idea how it was meant to look, so it was proving somewhat difficult. One of the assistants had joined her and it was him who called her attention. He pointed at a simple plug socket, one which indicated that the morality engine wasn't just plugged in, but switched on as well.

"I thought," she started but trailed off as the young man nodded vigorously.

"For the purpose of Mr. Jane's plan, the morality engine was meant to be completely non-operational," he confirmed.

"Who was meant to check that everything was in place before the experiment started?" Lisbon demanded.

"That would be me, but I swear it was unplugged five minutes before Patrick sat in that seat," Sophie said, sounding a lot calmer than she actually looked. "Please come with me. This is important, Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon frowned, but complied. She didn't believe a word of what Sophie had just said; she was growing increasingly suspicious of the woman. As far as she was concerned, this meant that the woman had changed her mind about revealing that the morality engine was a sham and was now eliminating everyone who knew one by one. Her ex was dead, poisoned. Jane was in some sort of coma and now, she was next on the list. Lisbon let her hand rest gently on her holster; if Sophie did anything that was even the tiniest bit worrisome, then she wouldn't even think twice about drawing her gun. Nor firing it, if it came down to that.

The doctor barely even registered Lisbon's shifting attitude towards her. Instead, she sat at the computer once more and started running through the computer dialog once more, hurriedly explaining as she did so.

"I only just noticed it while you were with Patrick," Sophie said, as if that made everything better. "Half of my programming has been completely changed; most of this is new to me. It is seriously complex; I can't even be sure what the program is for, never mind how it..."

She trailed off as the screen went blank. Almost as soon as it did so, words began to appear on the screen. The three people present - Lisbon, Sophie and the assistant - stared avidly at the screen. Two were in a state of shock while the other remained completely impassive. This was the result of their experiment, after all and though the morality engine was completely useless, soul storage was becoming a sure success.

IS LISBON THERE? The device asked.

"Say yes," she said quickly, not even waiting for Sophie to look at her.

As Sophie was typing in, more dialog appeared onscreen.

I MAY BE PARALYSED, BUT I CAN STILL HEAR YOU.

"What happened? Are you okay?" she answered back, though her tone almost suggested _'what the hell did you do this time?'  
><em>  
>AS TOUCHED AS I AM ABOUT YOUR CONCERN, I SUGGEST YOU CATCH THE CULPRIT FIRST.<p>

She read quickly, but so did said culprit. The assistant, the one who had informed her that the machine had been operational when it should not have been, had made a break for it. Lisbon didn't care that she had been wrong about her judgment of Sophie; she needed to catch the man so that he could fix this sorry mess first. He needed arresting for murder and illegal experimentation upon humans. She sincerely doubted that he had garnered Jane's agreement to become a human guinea pig.

It didn't take her long to catch him up or to slap the handcuffs firmly around his wrists. After a good half an hour of interrogation, he admitted to the murder of Alex Nelson and that his experiments had been less than legal. He had been manipulating the machine at night, turning it into his soul storage unit instead of the morality engine that everyone else had believed they had been building. On top of that, he had been siphoning off the money from the Stutzer Institute, having failed to get funding himself based on the fact that those in charge of the purse strings had found his proposals morally dubious. Lisbon wasn't quite sure what made the morality engine acceptable in comparison, but it wasn't her job to make that judgment. Instead, she had to ensure that the law was upheld and make sure that justice was served.

It didn't take much to persuade the guy to undo his handiwork and get Jane's mind back in his body either. The assurance that death would be off the table was more than enough to make sure that Jane was returned to his normal (irritating) self. The fact that he had managed to solve the goddamn case despite the fact his mind was literally elsewhere had simply confirmed just how annoyingly right he was when it came to catching killers. Then again, the bastard had given himself away by running the moment that Jane had suggested he should do so. If he'd have remained in place, then Lisbon would have been none the wiser and most likely have been trying to get an answer out of Sophie Miller.

Once they said goodbye to the doctor, but not without Jane giving her a peck on the cheek, something which Lisbon found herself politely averting her eyes for, they headed straight for her car. The rest of the team was already on their way back to headquarters with their perp, to get him transferred to the holding cells as soon as feasibly possible. Lisbon hadn't stopped worrying about Jane, however. He was the first human - possibly the first living being even - to have undergone the procedure he'd gone through. She wasn't entirely convinced that there would have been no untoward side effects. Sophie had given him a thorough examination and come to the conclusion that he was both mentally and physically sound, but naturally, that wasn't enough for her.

"Are you sure that-"

"Do you not trust Sophie's test results?" Jane asked, all in good nature.

Lisbon opened her mouth to retort but Jane interrupted again, silencing her as he did so. "I'm fine, woman, really. There's no need to worry."

"But the human mind is a fragile thing," she answered back, immediately defending her stance.

"And don't I know it?" Jane answered with a grin.

Without another word, Jane enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug. Lisbon was almost as surprised as Jane was that she didn't push him away angrily. She wasn't one for public displays of affection, especially from somebody who she considered to be little more than a work colleague. Still, she allowed herself to enjoy it, if only just a little. It was proof positive that he was human again, that he was no longer in a catatonic state.

Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would make sure that their relationship got back to being strictly professional once more.


	7. Survivalist

**A/N:** So I slightly twisted this genre to fit my needs. Hooray.

Thank you to TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing _Dislocation_

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Damage Control  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary:<strong> A car accident leaves Jane and Lisbon stranded in the middle of nowhere.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: Survivalist

**Damage Control**

She gnawed through the twine using her teeth and Jane cringed as she did do. Lisbon ignored him. She didn't care what damage it did to them when there was more important things to worry about. Jane had a fracture or possible break to his left arm, for one thing. The sooner he was fixed up, to at least a reasonable state, the sooner they could move on. And if that meant using her teeth in lieu of scissors, then that was what she was going to do.

The fall into the dried riverbank had resulted in numerous cuts and lacerations but really, she knew that they were exceedingly lucky. Coming out of a car crash like that alive was a miracle in itself, never mind just being classified as walking wounded. Of course she hated the fact she was responsible for them getting injured at all, but at the same time Lisbon was counting her blessings. They were, after all, alive and more or less in one piece. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Besides, she had more important things to be doing than wallowing in self-pity. Jane definitely needed to see an EMT and technically, she probably did too. The only problem was that they were literally stuck in the middle of nowhere with absolutely no contact with the land of the living. Their vehicle, naturally, was a write off. If she was going to do something like that, she always did it properly. There was no point in messing around with half-hearted measures. However, her thoroughness was posing them more problems than just a lack of transport. The GPS system was shot to pieces, her cell phone hadn't fared much better and Jane's, though it had miraculously survived the accident, had typically, run out of charge.

But that didn't mean she was about to give up their situation as being hopeless any time soon. Teresa Lisbon was a fighter and she was proud of the fact. If anybody could pull themselves and a rather apathetic Patrick Jane out of this sorry situation, it was he. All it required was the correct application of determination and a hell of a lot of patience.

"Now what?" Jane asked, giving her the big, doleful eyes as he did so.

"Isn't it obvious?" she quipped and he rolled his eyes in response. "We find the nearest road and follow it until we hit civilization."

"You make it sound so easy," he said.

"What? It is," she answered back, sounding altogether angrier than she had originally anticipated. "You're not on the verge of giving up are you?"

"Why not? The situation is pretty bad."

Lisbon pursed her lips in response. Patrick Jane, the man who had spent years fighting a hopeless task, toiling after Red John was all but ready to lie down and die after something as mundane as a little car crash. Admittedly, she only had a vague knowledge of the geography of the area and the pain was already beginning to make itself known, but that didn't make this a life or death situation. Not yet, anyway. She told herself that it was just his discomfort that was talking, that he was probably heading into a state of shock. He didn't really believe he was about to die, he just wanted to sleep off the pain or something. Not that it would be that simple without medical attention. However, the mind didn't always know what was best for it.

They had to get back to civilization, they just had to. If that meant they had to rough it for a couple of days or do and push their pain thresholds to the very limit, then so be it. Besides, it was an adventure, of sorts. There was a sort of charm about returning to nature and all that. It was just a shame that it had to be under such unfortunate circumstances.

As quickly as possible, Lisbon gathered together all the objects that were useable and practical and stuffed them into a hold-all. She didn't know how long they would be out on their own; they needed some things at least to ensure that this situation could be made as comfortable as feasibly possible. Jane, meanwhile, flopped onto a fallen branch and whined as he did so. Yes, she decided, he was definitely slipping into a shock. She had to be careful, then. Realistically, she shouldn't have been moving him at all, but she had no choice. There was no way she could contact the emergency services from here. They had to move on simply to be able to seek help and shelter. It was all making Lisbon's stress levels skyrocket. It was bad enough that she knew she was at fault for the accident, never mind taking into account Jane's acute suffering. She worried about him at the best of times and this just added insult to injury. On normal occasions, Jane was a lightning rod for danger; what was he going to be like injured and delirious? Somehow, it was up to her to keep his spirits up and get them to a place of safety. Or preferably, a hospital where they could receive the medical treatment they required.

The walk back up the riverbank was strenuous and Lisbon discovered that she had more aches and pains than she originally anticipated. Silently, she hoped that it wasn't anything too bad; she had to focus her energies elsewhere. Finding somewhere sheltered for them to sleep for the night, for one. It was getting late and she was beginning to doubt that there would be any passing traffic. Dubiously, she stared up at the sky; a spectacular vision of yellows, oranges and reds. Had she not been stuck in this predicament, then she may have stopped to enjoy the sunset. Instead, she cursed herself for taking Jane's advice about the detour. If she had stuck to the main roads, like she had originally intended to do so, then they probably would have already been back at the CBI headquarters. Instead, they were bruised and battered and facing a race against the sun.

Despite the shock and his injuries, Jane did eventually prove himself to be useful. After about an hour's trek, he spotted a dilapidated shack just off the road. It was getting late and it didn't look like they would find any other shelter. That had to be better than nothing. Hurriedly, Lisbon made for the door and started banging roughly on it. She had to hope that somebody was inside, that they could provide them with shelter for the night. Or even better, a telephone where they could call for the help they required. Nobody answered, but the door eventually gave up against her persistent pummeling and swung slowly open.

Jane was the first one inside. Lisbon rolled her eyes and followed him inwards. Her hand rested nervously on her gun; she didn't know who or what was inside. It was better for her to be on her guard than to risk being killed just because of a lapse in concentration. She knew that Jane simply didn't have that mindset. That and he lived as if he had a death wish. Sometimes, she wondered if he really did. After all he'd been through she wouldn't really blame him if he did. In the past, he'd been suicidal. Who was to say that he wouldn't have a relapse at some point? Though naturally, she didn't want him to and did everything she could in attempt to prevent that from happening.

Eventually, she deemed it as she suspected: deserted. Unfortunately, it also only offered them little more than basic, old furniture. Her hope of being able to call for help had immediately been dashed. Still, at least they had shelter and something comfortable (a dilapidated couch) to sit on.

"Lisbon."

"Yes, Jane?"

It had taken a little while, but she had finally gotten him settled down onto the couch and had set up the things they had to hand. She'd fed him a little of the food she'd managed to rescue from the van and had taken to pacing around the shack. Now she had time on her hands to actually think about what was happening, she didn't much like it. The food wouldn't last long; barely a day and that was only if they ate meager meals between them. Jane already looked in a pretty poor state and she dreaded to imagine how he'd be when hunger began to kick in as well. It was a well-known fact that Jane loved his food, almost as much as Rigsby did. He simply had a slightly more refined taste than her arson specialist did.

"You're bleeding," he said, breaking the silence.

"No I'm not," she retorted instinctively.

He stood and joined her. Gently, he place a hand to her arm and when he showed it to her, his fingers were covered in sticky blood. Lisbon frowned in response; she had assumed that all of her wounds would have knitted over by now. The fact that she was still bleeding out was worrisome. They didn't even have a clue how much blood that she had already lost. And if she was still bleeding, then what did that say about Jane and his injuries? Really, they needed medical intervention, but it was late and had already started to rain. If they had known where they were then maybe, it would be different. As it was, this was probably the best place for them. At least they had some medical supplies to use, that was better than nothing at all.

Lisbon watched as Jane picked out some of the supplies. He indicated to the couch and as she sat down, he took a seat beside her. After rolling up the sleeve of her blouse, he methodically, he wiped her arm with the antiseptic wipe. She winced as the chemicals stung at the wound, but remained stock still. Jane was being as gentle as he could be, after all. When he let go of it and allowed it to drift to the floor, the material had turned a pink color. Lisbon tried to ignore the fact that that was her blood causing the discoloration and that she hadn't even noticed her injury because she had been so caught up with worrying about everything else. Jane shifted a little closer to her as he took a bandage up in his good hand and steadily wrapped it around her arm, despite the discomfort it caused to himself. At least he seemed to have come to his senses now that they were indoors and he'd had a little to eat and drink. He remained quiet as he tended to her injury and all they could hear was the thrum of rain hitting the roof. Lisbon was grateful for it, in a way. They both knew how it had happened and there was no point in either of them in trying to dissect who was responsible for the accident. It wouldn't do them any good now, nor in the long run.

"All done," he murmured eventually, but he didn't move.

"Thank you," she replied stiffly and stood up, crossing her arms as she did so.

"Just come back here, woman."

Reluctantly, she complied. A small voice in the back of her mind was screaming at just how inappropriate it would be for her to snuggle up to her consultant in the middle of nowhere. Still, it wasn't as if he was proposing marriage or anything as ludicrous as that. It wasn't as if he was even propositioning her. All he was asking for was comfort. Considering their current predicament, the least they deserved was the feel of human touch, just to help them relax. Lisbon knew that Jane knew her better than anybody else and that when it came down to it, if there was anybody who could help her calm down, it was him. If she didn't agree, then she doubted she would get any sleep at all. As it was, with his arm resting lightly over her waist, she found her eyelids growing heavy and eventually drifted off to sleep.

When the morning came, so did the team. They looked shattered, as if they had spent all night searching for their whereabouts, which probably wasn't too far from the truth. Lisbon didn't even bother to argue when Van Pelt ushered her towards an ambulance, where an EMT was waiting patiently to give her the once over and decide whether or not she required further medical intervention at the hospital. She was simply grateful that her team cared enough not to give up, to search high and low for them. Also that their efforts had been rewarded quickly; that they hadn't been stranded in the middle of nowhere for a week or longer. Though the night had been surprisingly peaceful and she had ended up even enjoying Jane's company, their condition could have grown a lot worse if they'd been forced to endure living on rations for too long. Then, there was Jane's arm, which was indeed broken. It was bad enough that he'd have waited nearly twenty four hours to get it treated. Any longer would have been terrible for future treatment on it.

Still, as she allowed the EMT to do his job and willingly answered his questions to the best of her ability, she tried to relax a little. They were safe now; there was no need for her to be so on edge. Somehow, they had gotten out of the situation with minimal injury, relatively speaking. It wouldn't be too long until everything was back to how it once was.

Lisbon glanced at Jane who smiled warmly at her. She blinked briefly. He hadn't said anything, but a look in his eyes was more than enough.

Maybe there was one thing she wouldn't mind being different after all this. She wasn't going to pin her hopes on it, of course. But maybe…


	8. Post Apocalypse

**A/N: **Trying to make sure I get into the routine of updating again.

Thanks to: xJadeWEAPONx and TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing _Damage Control_.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Disaster Story  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana**  
><strong>**Rating:** T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Jane and Lisbon consider their next move after the apocalypse has struck.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: post-apocalypse.

**Disaster Story**

So, it appeared that the Mayan calendar was entirely correct. The world was doomed to end in 2012. The four horsemen of the apocalypse - Death, Famine, War and Pestilence - had ridden out, figuratively speaking at the very least. All that was left was a steaming mess, virtually uninhabitable and a few stragglers that had somehow hung on through the mayhem.

Teresa Lisbon wriggled out of the bolt hole she had found herself ensconced in and straightened up to observe the damage. Yes, it was pretty bad to say the least. That was if pretty bad meant virtually destroyed, of course. Another aftershock shook the ground she was standing on and she carefully steadied herself against a crumbling brick wall until the worst had passed over.

"So you can cope with the little ones, then?" Patrick Jane asked with a smug grin.

Lisbon turned around to shoot him a dirty glare. Of course he had to mock her for that. He wouldn't have been Jane if he didn't. She was ashamed enough of the fact she had whimpered several times during the worst of it. Lisbon was meant to be the strong one; something as mundane as a quake wasn't meant to faze her. California was on a fault line; they happened often enough for her to be a seasoned pro when it came to riding out earthquakes.

Only thing was, this time, it was so much more than just an earthquake. Even the biggest ones they'd endured in the past. This was the end of everything. Part of her was surprised at just how well they were both handling this. Then again, the end of everything was something that was very hard to comprehend. That was probably a good thing as it would have been rather useless if one - or both - of them had fallen apart in an emotional wreck. It just wouldn't be useful when what they really needed to do was work out how to survive after the end of everything.

She took a few steps forward and started half-heartedly sifting through the detritus. It didn't take her long to find a cell phone, broken and unusable, of course. Then again, even if it were operational, it wouldn't have worked anyway. The systems set up to ensure they worked were probably shot to pieces. She threw it away. There was no point in clinging onto anything like that. She couldn't even justify it to herself as being of sentimental value.

Briefly, she thought of the last person she had talked to on her own phone, Van Pelt. The younger agent had been visiting her family for Thanksgiving just before disaster struck worldwide. Lisbon hoped the woman had, along with her family, found cover, had survived even. There wouldn't be any way of finding out now, regardless.

When a soft hand grazed upon her shoulder, she turned to face Jane. He was wearing his grave expression, the one she had always associated with him thinking about Red John.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

She could only nod in agreement. This kind of tragedy was the sort of thing that put the trouble that Red John had caused into perspective. Eventually, Lisbon knew she would start thinking properly about her loved ones, her colleagues, her friends. Though there was a slim chance that some of them may have found shelter and gotten out of this scenario unscathed, but it was a virtual impossibility that all of them had done so.

In the silence, Lisbon wondered what the trigger had been. What it was that had pretty much destroyed not just humanity, but the planet as a whole. She had always thought that the species was generally doing a very good job at bringing about its own destruction, but she had never believed for a second that it would happen so suddenly. Lisbon had thought it would have taken years for resources to be so thoroughly depleted that there was an obvious effect on human life; longer than her lifetime at any rate. Though war was always a rather sudden way to destroy homes and lives, of course. Had two of those Asian countries she was woefully unknowing about managed to develop super weapons that had brought about the destruction of the Earth itself? What about the potential of outside influences? Another asteroid hitting the planet, maybe? She has watched a documentary once, while sick, and this didn't match up to how they'd described it on that television show.

Maybe it really was just the fate of the planet? Perhaps the Mayans really did have the insight when they'd constructed their calendar? Maybe the four horsemen of the apocalypse had ridden out? Whatever the cause was, Lisbon suspected that it would remain beyond her comprehension for a good long while and if not, forever. With a despondent sigh, she eyed up a relatively safe looking track and made her way along it. It didn't take long for Jane to fall into step beside her, matching her pace for pace. Though she would never dare to vocalize it, Lisbon was relieved that not only had he survived, but he had been the one to keep her company, to keep her relatively calm as disaster struck.

"So," he started.

"So?" she echoed.

"Where are we going? What are we doing?"

That was a rather interesting question, she considered. What could they do, really? From the looks of things, saving the world was a little bit beyond them and probably too late. There was no point in the locking the gate after the horse had bolted, as some said. Really, the only options they had were to cling on as long as possible or to give up and die a slow and painful death. Or they could make it quick and relatively painless by committing suicide, of course. However, Lisbon was in no mood to give up, never mind to orchestrate her death sooner rather than later. The fighting spirit was very much ingrained into her being so she didn't give the options of giving up more than even the slightest of thoughts.

"I don't know. And we're going to find others, find somewhere safe to stay-"

"Save the human race?" he quipped, interrupting her as he did so.

"Something like that," she answered wryly.

"What if there are no others?" he questioned.

"Come on, Jane. If we survived, other people must have."

"Yes, but..."

She shot him another dirty glare, one which quickly silenced him. Though Jane was more than happy to consider the concept of them being the only survivors, she believed that theory was all too depressing to consider at the moment. They hadn't even had a chance to _really_assess what had happened just yet. Besides, the look on his face suggested he was just toying with her, that he didn't really believe they were the only two humans to survive on the entire planet. His question had just been hypothetical.

"_If_we are," he eventually said, breaking the silence, ignoring the look on her face this time around. "Are you and I going to become the saviors of the human race? Save it from the brink of disaster?"

"Jane!" she said loudly, almost shouting as she did so. At the same time, she punched him on the arm.

And then, she took the time to consider what he was saying. All this time, they had spent repressing feelings, ignoring them and pretending they didn't exist. Him because he just needed something to happen to put his family's death into perspective. Something to prove to him that it was possible and was acceptable for him to fall in love again. That he didn't have to deny himself the comfort of a relationship just to honor his dead wife. Her, simply because she had deemed it inappropriate to fall in love with somebody that wasn't just a colleague and friend, but also clearly in love with another (admittedly, deceased) woman. Those issues, somewhat conveniently, had been brushed carelessly aside by the apocalypse.

She grabbed his jacket by the lapels and forcibly pulled him down so his lips met hers. It didn't take Jane long to take the initiative either. His hands wrapped around her back and he held her close, twisting her hair around his hands. Lisbon shuddered as his tongue, wet and eager, traced patterns on her lower lip before demanding entrance to her mouth. Though he was driving her to distraction, Lisbon didn't remain passive. Why would she when she was the one to instigate it? She battled his every move, trying to assert her dominance.

It was only when they parted, gasping for breath that she considered that their battle had most likely ended in a draw.

"So?" he asked again, his eyebrows waggling.

"I'll have to think about it," she answered coyly, though it didn't take a mind reader to know that her answer had really been a resounding yes.

Jane smiled and she laced her fingers around his. Yes, saving the world, or at least making it inhabitable once more was a big ask, but she was going to be damned if she wasn't going to give it her best shot. Besides, they'd already all but given one another something to carry on living for. Now they just needed to make sure that any other survivors could share the hope imbued in them.


	9. Alternate Universe

**A/N: **So, despite the fact that half of these oneshots can be classified as AU, we finally get to the one which actually uses it as a genre. Hooray? Actually, I really liked this AU verse and if I have time, I might return to it one day.

Thank you to TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, MerriWyllow and iloveplotbunnies for reviewing Disaster Story.

And because I haven't mentioned it in this collection yet: please check out the Mentalist fan forum, Paint It Red. We have a lot going on there including a ficathon and awards! Would love to see some more participation.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Don't Wish, Don't Start  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Lisbon had had to keep her anger in check during the case. An AU episode tag to 1x01.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: Alternate Universe. And gosh, I want to return to this 'verse again one day.

**Don't Wish, Don't Start**

When she got home, it couldn't have come a moment sooner. She wasn't just angry; she had gone far beyond that. Lisbon had had to keep her anger in check during the case, to allow it to simmer just below the surface. Now she was back at home, the rage was bubbling furiously and she had irresistible urge to do something destructive. However, it was gone one a.m. So that would have to wait until the morning. An early session down at the range would be enough to get her straight again, but for now she would have to cling onto the modicum of self-control she had left.

The origami frog he'd made her was still in her jacket pocket. It was such a silly, pointless gift and yet he had deemed it an appropriate present. Why? It was just a mindless piece of folded paper and more annoyingly, it had taken her off guard and made her jump. The bastard. He'd explicitly done it to ruffle her feathers, to make her seem unprofessional and nervy. And as if it made everything better. It didn't; far from it, in fact. She was still angry.

It wasn't just the fact he had weaseled his way into the case despite his being on suspension. Nor was it because he'd lied to her about the case and how he was going to solve. It would have been a lie if she'd said that his morally and legally dubious methodology hadn't angered her once again. Of course it had; it made a mockery out of the CBI. She was proud to be a senior agent for the bureau and loathed his immediate lack of respect for it.

No what had annoyed her the most was a single line. Just one claim. It had shaken her to her very core when he'd said it. Even now, days afterwards, when theoretically she should have forgotten about it, his voice and the words lingered on in her mind.

_Red John is mine._

That was what he'd said. And that was what had led to her being so furious with her wayward consultant.

Red John didn't belong to anyone, least of all Patrick Jane. He was a dangerous serial killer who had blighted the lives of many people. Bringing him to justice was the highest of her priorities.

It was also the reason she had applied for the serious crimes unit vacancy when it had come up.

Minelli had been very reluctant to give her the position. It wasn't because of her capabilities, or lack thereof - he knew she was more than able to carry out the job. Lisbon had been working her way through the ranks at the CBI for a while and he knew she was the most qualified for the position. The problem was one specific case that came as part and parcel with the senior agent of the SCU job.

Red John.

He knew that Lisbon was connected to the case and he didn't like the fact that her bias could possibly color her judgment. Whenever agents were so closely ingratiated with cases, Minelli had always tried his utmost to keep them separate from the problem case. He didn't want their history, their lives, to cause problems with their work. Biased agents sometimes went too far if they felt too passionate about a case because of links, one way or another.

But Lisbon had been the best one he'd interviewed for it. They'd both known it. And she was determined to have the job, too. She used all of her powers of persuasion to ensure that she got precisely what she wanted. It had taken a lot of convincing that she wouldn't step out of the boundaries, when it came to the Red John case. That she would work to the letter of the law and wouldn't let her history or links cloud her judgment. They both knew it was easier said than done, but if anyone was capable of keeping such a promise and remaining level-headed, it was Teresa Lisbon. And six months after she had been appointed, Minelli had told her that he'd been glad she had persuaded him to take a chance on her.

But things had changed since then. Patrick Jane had come back into her life just two months ago and had promptly turned everything upside down once more. He was like a destructive whirlwind, determined to leave chaos in his wake. The man had no concept of professionalism and boundaries. The fact that he was only working for the CBI to solve the Red John case was something he'd made blindingly obvious and that worried her. He didn't have the self-control she put in place for herself. Jane didn't care how the Red John case was dealt with, just so long as it was. The law had no meaning in his eyes. He was on a personal vendetta, making it his quest to ensure that Red John was dealt with, one way or another. Worst of all, Lisbon had a shrinking suspicion that Jane would willingly break the law in order to try and find closure for the death of his family.

And his recklessness was beginning to have an effect on her, too.

Because she had just as good a reason to be as passionate about the Red John case as he did. But of course, being Patrick Jane, he forgot that her brother had been slaughtered by the serial killer. He was so fixated on the fact his family had been victims, that he forgot there were other people who were in the same state as he was. That she, too, was looking for closure when it came to the death of her brother.

Joseph Lisbon hadn't even been an intended victim of Red John. That was what was so galling about his death for her. That, and the only reason he'd been in the vicinity at all, was because he had chosen to be a cop because he'd wanted to follow in her footsteps. It had been sheer chance that he'd been the first responder to that Red John murder. The fact that Red John had returned to the scene, presumably because he'd made a fatal error, had just been Joseph's misfortune. Why else would Red John have returned, if it hadn't been because he'd left some clue behind?

Every day she had asked herself several questions. Why had Joseph had to choose to be a cop too? Why hadn't she persuaded him to choose some other career? Why did he have to have been on call that night? Why did Red John have to make a mistake? How did he manage to overcome her brother?

Why did he have to die?

Was it her fault?

Lisbon found herself staring at a picture of him, one of very few she had up in her apartment. It was on his graduation day. Joseph had been so proud of himself that day, and justifiably so. Being a cop was something he'd dreamed of ever since _she_ had been accepted into the academy. He was going to make a career out of it, follow in her footsteps. She and her other brothers, James and Tommy, had all managed to attend it as well. In fact, his graduation was probably the last time they'd all been together, alive. The next time she had been reunited with James and Tommy had been at Joseph's funeral. Not for a moment had Joe believed that the career of his dreams would result in his death. Nor would he have imagined just how much it would have broken his elder sister's heart.

Her hand slipped into her pocket and she drew out that damn origami frog. Without a second thought, she wrapped her fingers around the paper creation and crumpled it up. Then, she dropped it in the trash can, not even bothering to look at it.

Of course a paper frog wasn't going to be enough.

Not for something like _that_.


	10. Zombies

**A/N: **This is probably my most ridiculous genre to date. Hm... thanks, iloveplotbunnies. (I loved the genres you gave me _really_.)

Thanks to TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme and Divinia Serit for reviewing _Don't Wish, Don't Start_. (ooh, it's been a long while since I last had cause to write your username in an author's note, twin. *feels fuzzy*)

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Death Is Not The End  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary: <strong>"I've got some bad news." Lisbon has some _interesting_ visitors at the CBI headquarters.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> For season three.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: zombies. For iloveplotbunnies, who planted the idea in my head before I even received my genres for this challenge.

**Death Is Not The End**

"I've got some bad news."

"What, apart from the zombie apocalypse that we're stuck in the middle of?" Lisbon quipped wryly.

Neither of them had believed that zombies had existed prior to the outbreak. Both had assumed that they were firmly stuck in the fictional realm, used for scares by horror aficionados. Lisbon in particular had very little time for the genre; humans did enough bad things to one another, without inventing monsters for cheap thrills.

Except now, it was a reality. Some bright spark of a scientist had successfully reanimated a body and that single (dead) human guinea pig had proceeded to cause an epidemic. Unsurprisingly, most the fiction lore about zombies proved to be startlingly inaccurate. Living humans had reacted badly, at first, believing that the fictional tomes were a precise representation of zombies. They'd set up safe zones, tried to kill them (again) and the like.

However, the zombies had all been mostly harmless. Of course there were a couple who were crazed psychopaths, but for the most part, they were happy to remain side by side with their living counterparts. In fact, they had even begun to win over some of the living, who had taken it upon themselves to campaign for zombie rights. After all, it was the living's fault that the dead had become reanimated. They hadn't asked for it. So, it was the living's responsibility to look after them now that they were here.

Sometimes, it caused problems with cases. Lisbon never knew when a dead body would spring up and start speaking (somewhat inarticulately) once more. It was always rather disconcerting if you were examining a body and it suddenly moved. The first time it had happened, much to her embarrassment, Lisbon had screamed. Jane had teased her for weeks after that and it had taken all of her self-control to avoid punching him in the face. However, if they did become reanimated, it often made closing cases a significantly easier. Unfortunately, it also meant that the workload increased as people no longer saw death as having the finality it once had. Now, it was just a way of making sure that someone hurt like hell.

"Bosco is in the reception. He's waiting for you there."

"Bosco?" she scoffed and scrutinized him. "You're joking."

He grinned, stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Quite obviously, he was enjoying this, far more than he should have done so. Jane didn't appear to be messing around, but she could hope he was. Really, she knew that she should have expected that sooner or later, somebody they personally knew would come back to life. In a way, she had dreaded the concept so much that she had pushed it to one side. The reanimation of somebody she loved and cared about meant that she would have to face certain demons that she really didn't want to.

"Please tell me that you're joking."

"Why would I joke about something like this?"

"Sometimes, I do wonder."

"And I resent that statement."

"You resent a lot of things," she muttered under her breath as she stood.

Jane moved to one side as she exited her office. She hurried towards the elevator, only stopping to allow Van Pelt to tell her the exact same information that Jane had just barged into her office with: that Bosco was indeed waiting patiently for her in the reception. Her heart sank. Van Pelt was too _nice_ to mess around with her in such a way. She wouldn't lie over something like this, even if Jane tried to bribe her somehow. The youngest member of the team was too moral to behave in such a way. It took a lot to make her do something which went against her better judgment.

The first thing Lisbon noticed when the elevator doors pinged open was a wilting bunch of flowers about a meter away from her. Then, she dragged her eyes upwards. Bosco was indeed there. He looked ghostly white and his eyes were red. These were things she had expected from the moment Jane had planted the idea in her head. After all, they were features that all of the reanimated corpses seemed to share. He'd dressed himself in clothes similar to those he would have worn for work; most likely because of the concept of him being in the CBI headquarters once more. It took all of her self-restraint to avoid reaching forwards and helping him re-button the shirt. He hadn't been able to dress himself properly. That was most likely because, like most zombies, he was trying to readjust and re-learn the motor skills he'd possessed when he'd still been alive.

Inwardly, she cursed. Why had Mandy insisted upon burying her husband? Why the hell hadn't she decided to have him cremated instead? Then, she wouldn't have had this problem.

"Hi Teresa," Bosco said slowly. "Say something. Please?"

She didn't have a chance to reply. Instead, behind him were two more zombies. Craig O'Laughlin tapped Bosco on the shoulder and moments later, Timothy Carter expertly aimed a right hook directly into his jaw. Lisbon stood back, incredulous, as an all-out brawl between the three men started in the reception area. Initially, she attempted to pull the men apart, but they practically ignored her. Instead, they were all intent on trying to pull each other to pieces, literally. And to make matters worse, from what she could gather, the reasoning for their fight was over her.

"Hello, Lisbon."

"What do you want, Jane?" she said with a scowl.

"Only you could end up having three zombies fighting to win your heart."

"They're not…" she said, but she ended up trailing off.

When Jane slipped his hand into hers, she was only faintly surprised. For the most part, she told him that personal displays of affection were banned from the headquarters. Their relationship had only blossomed after the zombie apocalypse had started and as far as Lisbon was concerned, it was one of the few good things to come out of it. A few of Red John's victims had been reanimated and with their assistance, they had been able to finally close the case. That closure had meant that Jane had finally been able to move on with his life. And much to her surprise, he had chosen that his life was to include her as well. Even more surprising was just how willingly she had given into his persistence, to his persuasion that he really could be good for her.

"Good job I know you have no interest in any of them, isn't it?" he said in a low voice.

"Hush. I'm not sure if it's such a good idea to let them know that right now," she answered back. "I'll have to break it to them gently."

"You're right, of course, my dear," he replied, before leaning to whisper in her ear. "So, my place or yours tonight?"


	11. Horror

**A/N: **So, this is probably my least favourite of my genre fics. I apologise in advance for this, really, I do.

Thank you to: MerriWyllow, Iloveplotbunnies, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme and xJadeWEAPONx for reviewing _Death Is Not The End_.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Dread  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary: <strong>What the hell just happened? A night that started out so well takes a turn for the worse.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: horror

**Dread**

"What's that?" Lisbon asked quietly, breaking their kiss suddenly.

"It's nothing," Jane answered, with a furrowed brow.

Lisbon stared at him quizzically, disbelieving. Everything had been going so well and yet, she was suddenly on edge. He reached forwards and gently brushed her bare arms. She shuddered slightly at the touch, but it wasn't the same as it had been merely minutes beforehand. It was a nervous twitch, not one of desire and longing. Somehow, it seemed that something had completely switched in her mind and now, she was no longer interested in him.

"Teresa," he said simply, "look at me."

She shook her head and ignored him entirely. Instead, she mumbled something about hearing something odd, no specifics, just something. Jane had heard rumors about the hotel being haunted by a young girl, but naturally, he'd scoffed at them. However, he knew Lisbon, deep down, wasn't as cynical as she pretended to be. It was entirely plausible that she had heard said rumors and that they had unsettled her somehow. But that wouldn't have explained how and why she had been fine earlier.

Suddenly, she straightened and pulled herself up to her fullest height. Determinedly, she stepped forwards. Jane called her name repeatedly, but she blanked him, as if he needn't have been there at all. He took a few steps forwards and felt as if he, too, had suddenly been enveloped by dread. His dread was not the same as hers; his was _for_ her. He didn't like to see her – or anyone he cared about, for that matter – like this.

"Teresa, what are you doing?" he practically yelled.

She ignored him as she moved across the bedroom, semi-naked, her pale skin almost shimmering in the moonlight haze. It would have been a beautiful sight to behold had she be heading towards him instead of the window. That and the fact that she had seemed transfixed by something, like she was in some sort of a trance. Though Jane was a skilled hypnotist, he would never have wooed her to bed in that way. No, he had only put her in a literal trance the once and that had only been because she has asked, in order to save her reputation and her career. Jane's brow furrowed tightly. Lisbon hadn't been near anyone who could hypnotize her; the past few months he had been keeping an extra close watch on her. Red John was still out there and Jane knew that by daring to start a relationship with her, they had painted those targets on their backs larger and brighter. She hadn't cared, had said he was worth it.

But none of that explained why she was in a trance.

"Lisbon," he shouted louder, hoping that the use of her surname would get through to her.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, which she quickly shook off. When Lisbon turned around, the sheer terror was shining bright in her eyes. Jane hated that look. If Lisbon - his white knight - was that scared, it meant there was really something to be worried about.

"Get away from me!"

"Teresa, it's me, Patrick. I'm not going to hurt you," he said soothingly and held out an encouraging hand.

She ignored it and was almost blind with rage. Lisbon repeated herself and yet, she wasn't even looking directly at Jane but straight over his shoulder. Jane turned around, but there was nothing and no one there. As he did so, Lisbon took the opportunity to throw the door open and step out onto the balcony of their hotel room.

When he finally returned his attention to her, Lisbon was balancing precariously on the barrier and the wind whipped at her hair. The tears shone in her eyes as she glanced sadly back at Jane.

"Don't make me do this," she mumbled.

"I'm not making you do anything," he whispered and once more, he held out his hand. "Come on, come back inside. We'll talk, yes?"

"I'm sorry," she said and she stared him straight in the eye as she did so.

And then, finally, she turned and jumped. Jane called out her name, though he knew it was in vain. Quickly, he grabbed hold of his jacket, relieved that they hadn't divested one another of all their clothes and wrapped it around himself. He bolted out of the room and downstairs, taking it two steps at a time. It took him barely a minute and a half to reach Lisbon in total. He hadn't even given himself a chance to think; he just had to get beside her and fast.

As he looked over her broken body, hoping against hope for some sort of miracle, though he knew that it was virtually impossible, he heard a girlish giggle. Not just any laugh, but one that was painfully familiar, even after all the years apart from her.

"Charlotte?" he questioned and her name stuck slightly in the back of his throat.

The laughter repeated before disappearing into the ether. Jane collapsed by liabon's body in a boneless heap, heaving.

What the hell had just happened?


	12. Five Times

**A/N: **Coming to the end of posting this collection now... just 3 more to go after this. This one is a genre that I feel very much comfortable with, but as I've been participating in the Five Times Big Bang over on LJ, I'm almost getting a little sick of five times fics again!

Thank you to: TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, vanrigsby, Iloveplotbunnies and Divinia Serit for reviewing _Dread_.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Denial Isn't Just a River  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Five times Lisbon denies or ignores her flaws.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Season Four  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: five times. For Miss Peg.

**Denial Isn't Just a River**

i

"She's straightening," Cho mutters in a low voice and immediately, Rigsby and Van Pelt's faces drop.

It's always a problem when Lisbon is straightening because it means she is worrying, And if she is worrying, there is usually good cause for it. That cause often (though not always) goes by the name of Patrick Jane. As a consequence, that means they all have reason to be concerned.

Lisbon also tends to be more moody and snappish as a consequence, which means, in turn, that it drags down the entire team. She's the team leader and though each one knows they shouldn't, they view her as unflappable, unstoppable, superhuman, even. Moments like this remind them of the chinks in her armor.

Seconds later, Jane emerges with his favorite teacup in hand. He takes a sip and he sighs his appreciation of the beverage. All three agents turn to glare at him. Frowning, he places the cup of tea carefully down on Cho's desk before returning his attention to them.

"I haven't done anything wrong," he immediately protests,"

"We didn't say you did," Van Pelt snaps back.

"Yet," Cho adds.

Jane joins them in front of the glass panel. Lisbon remains seemingly oblivious to their presences and stares with them. She's completely engrossed in her task, making sure that everything is perfect. She's almost frantic in her actions; just before Jane fetched his tea, he interrupted her and slowed down her progress.

"She has a meeting with Wainwright," Jane eventually explains.

"Oh?"

"About her brother."

"Oh."

They didn't need to know any more of the details, because they were all more than intelligent enough to put the pieces together. Her brother, probably Tommy, had most likely interfered with another unit's case, while chasing down a skip. Wainwright had therefore taken it upon himself to blame her instead, And that would be more than enough to tip her over the edge.

"She insists she's fine," Jane adds.

Not that she'd admit to it, mind.

ii

"You know, somebody else could do that."

"Oh, please," she answers back as if that is an argument. "I have a deadline to meet, so if you don't mind…"

Lisbon trails off and waves her left hand casually in the general direction of the door. Her eyes are fiercely fixed on the form in front of her. The mountainous pile that is threatening to overspill in her inbox suggests that not only will she be working late, again, but she is also trying to give herself repetitive strain injury.

Naturally, Jane completely ignores her instruction. Most of the demands she gives him, he sees as being more like suggestions or advice. He can – and does – choose whether or not to take it on board or to pretend that she never said it in the first place. This time, he thinks that he would much prefer to sit at her desk, directly in front of her. The bullpen is deserted; the others are all busy chasing leads and he most certainly hadn't been invited. Entertaining Lisbon (or, more likely, her keeping him occupied), seems like a preferable way to spend his time.

Eventually, she places the ballpoint pen down, crosses her arms and glares at him.

"I thought I told you to go."

"Actually, you merely stated you had a deadline to meet."

"I'm not in the mood to play your games, Jane," she answers with an insufferable sigh. "You_ know_ what I meant."

Once more Jane ignores her and instead, picks up the next form on her pile. Though he refuses to fill in most the paperwork – he finds it arduous and meaningless – it doesn't mean he isn't au fait with it. After all, he's watched the others do it many a time. It's an A4B and when she snatches it back, he pouts.

"Wasn't Cho meant to fill that one in?"

Lisbon shrugs and casts her eyes back downwards.

"He was, wasn't he?"

"He always fills in section 7.2 wrong."

"I think you have a problem with delegation."

"I do not," she retorts and Jane knows it's taking all of her self-control not to throw some sort of projectile at him. "It's just _quicker_ if I do it."

iii

"Paperwork, still?" Jane remarks, incredulous. "I thought you were going to prove me wrong and delegate?"

"They've been busy," she mutters before taking a sip of her black coffee.

"Oh really?" he answers back, grinning. "Then why did I spot Cho and Rigsby playing with a rubber ball for an hour before they left to go home? Much to Van Pelt's irritation, I hasten to add."

Lisbon merely shrugs and picks up her pen yet again. She's been solidly doing paperwork for the past eight hours, after her dreaded meeting with Wainwright. On the plus side, she's calmed down considerably. However, her last interruption had been Jane himself, just after lunch. She hadn't even realized that the other three had come back and left once more. Then again, unlike Jane, they actually listened to her instructions and she had told them not to disrupt her.

"I bet it's been so long since you last had a break, that your coffee has gone cold."

"So what if it has?" she answers back stiffly.

"C'mon, let's get you something to eat and drink," he says encouragingly. "Something more substantial than a banana and a coffee."

"Jane," she whines.

She knows how to look after herself, despite the fact he seems convinced otherwise. Besides, she had a big lunch which he hadn't seen, so despite it being early evening, she's not actually that hungry. However, she'd have been lying if she didn't admit that she finds his concern touching. Jane dances that little too close to the edge of insanity for comfort. It's easier to pretend he is whole and normal, than not.

Still, that doesn't mean she can say yes. Even after all these years of working closely with him, he scares her. It isn't just his actions, but it's what he does to her. It's the reason she determinedly throws up barriers between them. Lisbon has been hurt so many times, and Jane is more destructive than most.

Unfortunately, he believes her actions are just sheer stubbornness, when as far as she's concerned, it's anything but.

iv

Van Pelt watches her boss warily. She's staring at Jane and the widow and if looks could kill, then either one or both of the figures standing in front of her would have been dead. She's seen her boss angry, furious even, more times than she can count. Barely a day goes by without Lisbon being annoyed by one thing or another. However, the look in her face is beyond anger; there's something else in it.

"Boss, are you okay?" she asks tentatively.

"Fine," Lisbon replies, though her tone suggests she's anything but.

It's strange, really. Van Pelt knows that she should be pleased, in theory. They caught the killer with very little hassle. It was a good, easy case for all of them. Jane didn't even need to break out any of his elaborate stunts –big or small – to solve it, something which simplified everything considerably. That meant she could believe, with some conviction, that there shouldn't be any problem whatsoever once the case hit the courts. Except for Jane's testimony, of course, they were always interesting, to phrase it politely.

When Jane reaches out to touch the sobbing widow on the shoulder gently, Lisbon's eyes narrow further. It's just a kind touch, one that is meant to offer comfort and show that he understands. Something, which both she and Lisbon are more than aware that he does. Barely a day goes by without them being reminded, somehow, of the losses he's had to endure. It doesn't matter that they've shaped him, made him a better person than he once was, but Van Pelt is a firm believer that nobody deserves to suffer as he has, even for the greater good.

"Are you sure?" she asks, almost nervously.

"I said I'm _fine_, Van Pelt," Lisbon snaps in response and crosses her arms. "Now, if you don't have anything better to do…"

"Sorry, Boss," she answers timidly, "but you know, he's only offering his condolences."

"You think I'm jealous?" Lisbon asks, her voice a mixture of sheer shock and dark humor.

"I didn't say…"

"Go away, Van Pelt. I'm sure you have plenty to be doing."

"Yes, I'm sorry."

v

Even the most stubborn of souls sometimes just have to give into Jane's relentless persistence. Lisbon, however, manages to time it so it suits her schedule rather than his. When their workload is lighter, she finally accepts his offer of dinner, though she makes it explicitly clear that the boundaries remain and he has to be on his best behavior.

Jane, however, is thrilled, and more than willing to go along with her stipulations. Despite her arguments otherwise, as far as he's concerned, this is a sign that the barriers between them are crumbling, that she is slowly but surely beginning to trust him that little bit more.

The conversation is light and airy, to begin with. Jane knows that prodding Lisbon that little bit too hard is akin to prodding a caged lion. (Or tiger or bear, for that matter. The species is irrelevant, provided it is something ferocious.) He knows how to manipulate conversation to get exactly what he wants from it; the skills were practically ingrained in him at birth.

That means, by the time that he's driving her home (sedately, of course, heaven forbid if he breaks the speed limit even just a little bit), that she's ready for him to hit her with the harder subjects. The half bottle of cabernet she washed the food down with helps, as well. Normally, she cages up whenever he touches on her family, or her love life, but now, she can just about handle it.

So naturally, he cannot resist but to go there.

"When was the last time you were in a serious relationship?" he asks gently, though his question is blunt.

She shrugs. "Does it matter?"

"I'm intrigued."

He pulls up in front of her home and she turns to face him. She's not comfortable, that much is clear.

"You're intrigued by anything and everything."

"Have you ever been in a serious relationship?" he persists. "Have you ever been in love?"

"It's none of your business," she snaps angrily and slams the door to his Citroen shut much harder than he'd have liked.

As he drives away, upset at the fact he'd horribly misjudged the situation, for once, he misses a sudden admission, more to herself than anything. That she hasn't just loved in the past, but is in love, but doesn't dare tell the man in question.


	13. Angst

**A/N: **Finally, we get to angst and the genre I should be happy with. Except, I'm not, because I feel too comfortable with this genre, wanted to write something good and the angst bunnies just didn't want to play.

Thank you to: matsu23, SharpestSatire, idonthaveaname, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, MerriWyllow, Divinia Serit and xJadeWEAPONx for reviewing Denial Isn't Just a River.

Also, a quick heads up to say we're heading into our third week of nominations in the Paint It Red Awards. If you know of any worthy nominees, please sign up and nominate them!

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Desolation  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana**  
><strong>**Rating:** T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon, Lisbon/unspecified  
><strong>Summary: <strong>With Lisbon missing and a Red John case landing on his lap, Jane needs to decide what his priorities are.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Season Four  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: angst.

**Desolation**

Lisbon hadn't been around for three days now.

She hadn't booked a vacation; Jane checked with Wainwright far more times than the Special Senior Agent would have liked. He knew she had one booked in December, to have that long-awaited and much needed catch up with her brother, James, but that, obviously wasn't due for a good long while yet. In one respect, Jane was pleased that she had actually booked a vacation, especially one during the holiday season. It wasn't healthy for someone to work just as hard as she did.

However, it also didn't explain why she was absent right here and right now. Jane was fairly certain she wasn't sick; Lisbon was rarely sick, excepting the odd headache or migraine, which she usually managed to work through anyway. Which meant, by default, that there was something else going on.

He was already beginning to lose count of just how many times he'd called her. Her landline had apparently been disconnected and her cell phone was out of action too. (Or so he'd been told, after the seventy-second attempt to contact her.)

Therefore, he had more than enough evidence to be convinced that something quite serious was remiss.

And to add insult to injury, that not only was Lisbon absent without leave, but they were stuck in the middle of a Red John case.

Somebody had decided to copy Red John in order to get away with murder, literally. Jane wondered if people would never learn that the serial killer loathed pale imitations of his work. Naturally, that had led to Red John responding in such a way as only he could: by killing in quite a spectacular fashion.

The team was working as hard as they could, but it was blindingly obvious that they were feeling the strain. It wasn't just a case of them wanting Lisbon back from wherever she had decided to disappear off to; they needed her. And yet, she seemed to have disappeared off the face of the planet. Worse, Wainwright didn't think it a priority. Jane knew that the man was a touch on the young side for the job, but that didn't excuse his complete and utter lack of judgment. There were times when he completely contradicted himself and his lack of concern for Lisbon was obviously one of those occasions.

Still, even if Lisbon had been around, Jane would have sworn that he felt better about this Red John case than he had done so in a long, long while. There was just something about it which made him believe that maybe, just maybe, this might be the one where he finally caught up with him.

Of course, she would have probably dragged him back down to Earth with a bump, reminding him not to get too far ahead of himself. That they would catch the serial killer together, and he could exact his revenge in the _legal_ way, rather than resorting to blood and gore.

However, Jane had no intention of following legalities, still. He'd spent so long on his quest for revenge that it felt churlish to throw it out of the window now. However much he knew it hurt the team to see him like a cold-blooded killer, he refused to give it up for anyone. It was the only thing that drove him, the only thing that kept him (somewhat) sane.

And that was why, in the dead of the night, he snuck up to his attic hideout at the CBI headquarters and fetched out a very specific gun. He'd somehow gotten back hold of it, though he wouldn't let on to how, even if Lisbon or somebody else asked. Since then, he'd kept it safely stashed away for whenever he felt like this again.

Realistically, he knew that he should have told somebody else where he was going. Cho, maybe, but deniability was their best friend. It was better that they didn't know and therefore didn't try to stop him, or even just stand back and watch. If Jane had his way, then Red John would be dead within five hours, three if he was (Jane, that was) lucky.

He was on edge during the trip. Guns made him uneasy, even ones in his own hands. There was something about objects that were specifically designed to kill that set him ever so slightly on edge, even when that was his own intention. He didn't care that it was slightly hypocritical; it didn't matter. What mattered now was getting to his destination as soon as feasibly possible.

When he slipped out of his Citroën at his destination, his legs were shaking. The thought that Red John could have kidnapped Lisbon had crossed his mind more than once. It was entirely plausible that she had chased up a lead, maybe an anonymous tip pertaining to the Red John case. Everything, the timing especially, measured up, after all.

He left the gun in his pocket, but held onto it tightly, in any case. With Red John, there was almost no such thing as predictability, except when it came to protecting his pride and reputation.

When Jane went to pick the lock, he was only mildly surprised to find that the door was already opened, almost as if he had been invited inside. So, he entered, though he knew that was not a good sign. It implied that his showing up tonight was expected.

"Good evening, Mr. Jane," a light voice stated through the darkness.

That was just what he feared. Still, he took a few steps in so that he could see his nemesis' face. When Luther Wainwright smiled back at him, Jane wasn't surprised, just saddened. It explained why Wainwright oft favored him in the workplace. However, he had always suspected him of being a _mole_, not Red John. He was far too young for that.

"No, I am not Red John," Wainwright said, still smiling. "Or at least, not the Red John who killed your family. He's already dead."

"Carter?" Jane asked.

"Yes," his supposed boss answered politely. "My uncle Tim. I merely inherited his legacy. And..."

Not wanting to hear another word, Jane attempted to fire his gun, the one barely concealed in his pocket. Wainwright merely tilted his head back and laughed as the faint pop of air being pushed through the barrel echoed in the mostly unfurnished lounge.

"What?" Jane asked with a frown.

"You really expected it to work?" Wainwright asked, amused. "I've known it was missing from the archives almost as soon as you'd taken it back. My uncle has taught me well; I understand the importance of having friends _everywhere_."

"Like?"

"You're a clever man, Mr. Jane, I'm sure I don't have to spell it out to you."

Jane didn't like the fact he called him 'Mr. Jane' each and every time he referred to him. It made him feel on edge, uneasy. Then again, that was most likely entirely the point. This wasn't the Luther Wainwright that Jane was familiar with; this was, he suspected, the man without his proverbial façade on. He wanted Jane to see him for who he truly was. And that meant he didn't expect Jane to leave this place alive, or at least, with the capabilities of coherent speech.

"Lisbon? No," Jane said incredulously. "She would never..."

"I would never what?" Lisbon said from behind him before turning her attention onto Wainwright. "I _told_you we should have left..."

"And had _him_straight on our trail, my dear?" Wainwright answered lightly before placing a chaste kiss on her lips. "I think not. I'm still surprised he chose to chase me – us – instead of you alone."

At that moment, Jane saw red and went to grab hold of Lisbon's gun. This was going from bad to worse. He had always feared that the CBI was corrupt, but for both Lisbon and Wainwright to be involved in the cult of Red John shattered him. He needed to end this, and fast. Even the knowledge that he had indeed ended the life of the bastard who had slaughtered his wife and child wasn't enough. The name lived on because of _them_.

Lisbon, naturally, was quicker and before Jane had a chance to reassess the situation, she had him in an arm lock. Sometimes, Jane had vaguely fantasized about being allowed to get this close to her, to be able to feel her breath on his neck, but he had never imagined that it would have been like this.

"So, what shall we do with him?" she queried and Jane's heart sank.

He didn't want to know what they had planned now.


	14. Supernatural

**A/N: **So, this is the penultimate genre and a little odd at that. Still, I'm interested to know what you think.

Thank you to: ShapestSatire and TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing _Desolation_.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Define Trust  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary: <strong>[AU] Jane, in the mental institution, getting the kick he needs to move into action.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> If you've seen the pilot, you're good.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: supernatural.

**Define Trust**

"Hello, Mr. Jane."

Jane opened one eye and peeked out of it slightly. As per usual, there was nothing of interest to see there. Just as he had expected. For the past three months, he had been greeted with nothing but stark whiteness. Being detained in a mental institution was depressing and lonely. As far as he was concerned, he was of sound mind and yet, his doctor, Sophie Miller, insisted he was not.

"Hello?" the voice repeated, light, feminine. "I know you can hear me, so _please_ stop ignoring me."

He remained stubbornly silent. Jane was never one to be told exactly what to do, even if it was by a gentle voice. Even his wife had grown frustrated with his stubbornness on occasion. She had even gone so far as to say that it was one of his worst traits, and that included the fact he barely he had moral backbone. So, while it was nice to have somebody who wasn't insistent that he was going mad talking to him, he still wasn't willing to give into her demands immediately. Especially so, considering he didn't even recognize the voice.

"Fine, ignore me. See if I care," she eventually said, in an irritated tone.

"You do realize you just contradicted yourself, don't you?"

"So you're not as stubborn and bull-headed as you appear then. Good," she said, almost triumphantly.

Closing his eyes again, he pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was impending, most likely as a side-effect of the drugs that Sophie insisted upon pumping into his system. Jane loathed them with every fiber of his being; he was certain they were beginning to mess with his cognitive abilities, but his doctor said otherwise. Of course, her status didn't mean she was necessarily right, but that was beside the point. At any rate, that wasn't his concern at this specific moment in time. His concern was who was speaking to him and where from. Part of him had a shrinking suspicion that the drugs were addling with his mind even further. After all, it wasn't normal to be hearing voices in his head. Jane knew that better than most.

"Who are you?" he asked dubiously, intrigue finally getting the better of him.

"Teresa Lisbon," she answered quickly.

"And you are where? Behind the one way mirror?" he suggested, almost hopefully.

"It's hard to describe."

"Try me. I haven't got anything better to do these days."

When she did, he laughed hollowly. Just as he'd suspected. The supposed treatment he was receiving had sent him off of the deep end. It was now obvious that his mind was playing tricks on him, wanting to believe there was a ghost in the room with him. And that ghost appeared to have concocted a rather impressive story about the astral plane that she apparently currently resided in.

"So, who were you, when you were alive?"

"I told you that already," she answered back quickly.

Jane smirked; he could almost imagine the pout.

"I meant what did you do, how did you live your life?"

"I was an agent with the CBI. Why?"

"Which branch?" he asked slowly.

For a while, he had offered his abilities as a psychic to the San Francisco branch. There had been no Teresa Lisbon there; Jane would have recognized her name in an instant had there been. However, much of the head office, in Sacramento, remained a mystery to him. He was only vaguely acquainted with Virgil Minelli, the senior special agent in charge at Sacramento. The people below him, however… Well. It was entirely plausible that there was an Agent Lisbon. And even if there was, he had no way of proving it to himself one way or another. What he needed was a computer, or something. But of course, computers were too dangerous or something. Sophie was probably convinced that had he gotten access to one, he'd try to strangle himself on the wires or electrocute himself or something. Then again, that was probably a fair judgment. Cutting himself wasn't exactly conducive to people believing he was sane. Others didn't understand that he deserved the pain, after what he'd done to his family. It was his fault they'd died; if he hadn't done that damn talk show…

"Sacramento," she answered politely.

Jane nodded. Of course it was going to be Sacramento. His psyche wouldn't have let it be anything else, otherwise then he would have _known_ he was losing it. Jane remained silent, half hoping that the voice would die down, that it would stop talking to him if he didn't acknowledge her. The rest feared what else she would have to say. There had to be a reason why she was so vivid in his mind. And why now? He had a shrinking suspicion about what it would be and he really, really didn't want to hear it.

"I was first responder to your family's murder," she said, almost out of the blue. "That's how – why – he killed me. I caught him in the act too soon."

"I still don't believe you're anything more than a figment of my imagination," he answered back. She had gone straight for the jugular. "Of course, I know what the crime scene looked like. I was there; there was no sign of anyone else's deaths, other than my family's."

"You weren't there before me," she said sharply, almost angry at his lack of trust in her. "He didn't kill me there. He kidnapped and…"

"I don't really want to know," Jane interrupted.

As much as he wanted to believe that this was all a part of his particularly lively imagination, there were some thoughts that he didn't want to allow himself to think. The concept of Red John torturing an agent of the CBI, a _female_ agent, probably quite striking, if on the petite side, or so he believed, was a little too much for him. It reminded him too much of the fact that Red John had tortured his wife and daughter before killing them too.

"The question is do you trust me, Mr. Jane?"

"Or is that do I trust myself?" he mused out loud.

"Whichever. Because if you do, I know how to get you out of here," she stated firmly, desperate to convince him to work with her instead of against her. "And then, you can help me continue my work. To find Red John and bring him to justice."

"That was my plan, anyway."

"Yes, but do you have inside knowledge of how to run an investigation? Or of the workings of the Red John case?" she asked, as persistent as beforehand. "Because I do."

Jane sat up. Even if Lisbon was only a part of his imagination, she (it?) was inspiring him more than anything else had done so in months. And if he could get out of here, then he could find the man who actually sliced his innocent little girl open. He could kill the bastard who murdered his wife. That sounded like a far better plan than Lisbon's relatively mundane suggestion of bringing Red John to justice.

"So, my little conscience," Jane said with a grin. "What do we do?"

"One," she started.

"Yes?" he interrupted, almost excited by the prospect of being in action again.

"Don't you ever call me your 'little conscience' again," she snapped with a growl.

"If you say so."

"I do."

"And what's next?"

"Well…"


	15. Time Travel

**A/N: **Last of my genre fics... for this round at least. Not sure if there'll be another round or not. It depends.

Thank you to: TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Iloveplotbunnies, SharpestSatire, matsu23 and xJadeWEAPONx for reviewing Define Trust. Also to anyone who +alerted or favourited this little collection.

Would love to know what you think.

Finally, nominations for the Paint It Red Awards are still going ahead. If you know of any stories that are deserving of a nomination, please head over there and do so! Thanks!

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>Do You Remember  
><strong>Author:<strong> tromana  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Jane/Lisbon, Jane/Angela, Charlotte  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Tamzin Dove has a proposition for Jane  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Only season one, really.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for 15genres1prompt. Genre: time travel. I finished it! I _had_ to really, didn't I? Not entirely happy with the ending of this one, it feels more like the start of something. But who knows if I'll ever get a chance to continue.

**Do You Remember**

"Ah, Patrick Jane," Tamzin Dove stated warmly, with a coy smile traced across her features. "I expected you would come."

"Why?" Jane quipped back immediately, before he'd even bothered to set foot in her home. "Because you were responsible for Tori Matthews' death?"

"Goodness, no. Do you really think I am a killer just because I am a witch?"

She stood to one side and indicated that he should enter. With a slight nod, Jane complied and followed her through to the kitchen. As she'd stated, Tamzin Dove didn't at all seem fazed by the fact he had suddenly appeared on her doorstep. On the contrary, she seemed almost thrilled and was buzzing with a nervous energy at the fact he had returned into her life. It didn't matter that it was as a result of the death of another one of her young associates; it almost felt as though she spent two years waiting for this moment.

"So no more killing spells then?"

"Killing spells?" she queried, sounding amused by the concept. "No. They don't exist."

"That's not what you said last time. "

"Last time, I was testing you. I wanted to see if you were as all knowing as you claim to be."

"I've never claimed to be all knowing," he answered back, immediately having to correct her. "Witchcraft isn't amongst my interests, so forgive me for failing your supposed test."

"Debating the uses of witchcraft isn't really why you're here, and neither is Tori's death. Please, take a seat. "

Jane ignored the request and remained standing. Though she clearly believed otherwise, he had genuinely only came to ask her a few questions about the case. He would have come with one of the others, but Lisbon had a meeting, Rigsby and Van Pelt were busy questioning the parents and Cho still had an aversion to witchcraft. So, he had decided to take the initiative and go it alone. He knew it would ruffle a few feathers when he got back to the headquarters, but the victim had been a minor. Whenever children were involved so intricately, he felt compelled to work ten times harder. That was something that should theoretically please Lisbon, but for some strange reason it only seemed to succeed in irritating her further.

"Even you have to admit that it is rather odd that children you take under your wing seem to end up dead. "

"I never had an interest in Cody Elkins. His brother, however, is turning into a fine young man."

"Close enough."

"If you say so," she answered with a wave of her hand. "I more believe it's serendipitous, a coincidence."

"I'm not sure Mr. and Mrs. Matthews see it that way."

"Tori's death was a tragedy; she was a bright soul and had a good spirit. She didn't deserve to die like that."

"I still think you're involved," Jane answered. It wasn't often that he spoke so openly about his hunches, but he had a feeling that it didn't make too much difference to Tamzin whether or not he remained coy about it.

"You only believe that because you wanted to have justifiable cause to see me again. In reality, you felt a calling to come. Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

He shook his head. Despite the fact Jane had a weakness for the drink, he didn't trust her not to have addled with it somehow. Of course, she would merely claim that her meddling was beneficial somehow, that all the magic she did was for good but as far as Jane was concerned, it was all masquerades and lies. It was little better than when he'd lived his life as a psychic, claiming to be in contact with the spirit world on order to fleece innocent victims out of substantial volumes of cash. The main difference was that Tamzin actually believed she could do magic and was therefore completely delusional when it came to her abilities. She shrugged and made herself a cup before gesturing to the table again, indicating that he should really take a seat.

"Fine, let's get this silly charade over and done with," she acquiesced and sat down on the wooden chair. "Though you have to promise that you will listen to what I have to say afterwards."

"Fine," Jane answered and he took a seat opposite her.

Tamzin placed her mug of tea down and turned it clockwise three times before looking up at Jane. Though he had agreed to hear out whatever it was she wanted to get off of her chest, Jane hadn't explicitly agreed to take it on board. He'd listen, but then promptly forget about it. She wasn't going to tell him anything of great import. No, she was most likely going to suggest some kind of magic spell, potion or lotion to rid him of his great, unequivocal sadness. That she was probably highly disappointed that it was still holding him down, like a great anchor around his neck. And he didn't want healing or saving or the like. He had his own agenda to sort out first. His quest for Red John was practically infamous now.

Meticulously, he recorded every detail she said relating to Tori Matthews, however. Jane had an inherent distrust of anyone claiming to be in contact with the spiritual world one way or another. Though she hadn't been guilty of Cody Elkins' death a couple of years ago, it didn't automatically make her innocent when it came to the Matthews case.

"So, Mr. Jane, tell me," she started, pausing briefly to take a sip of her tea. "If you could change one thing in your past, what would it be?"

"You tell me," he challenged.

"You're right of course," she said with a shrill laugh, one that was more suited a girl at least fifteen years younger than she was. "Your regrets are obvious to anybody who has even the slightest interest. "

She stood and headed straight to an oak cupboard. Jane watched warily as she started rummaging through it. Eventually, she was triumphant and as Jane suspected, she returned with a small packet of herbs. Gently, she placed it on the table and sat back down opposite him.

"The spirits told me you would return shortly after I saw you last. Of course, they couldn't tell me it would take three years," she said, again with a girlish giggle. "They informed me how to concoct this little thing. "

"And what is it meant to do?" he asked, pretending to be intrigued, when in reality, he didn't care in the slightest.

"What do you think? "

"Nothing at all," he answered honestly. "It's just a bunch of herbs."

"That's where you're wrong," she said, with a confident air about her. "Of course, you'll never believe me if I told you what it's meant to do. You're going to have to try it for yourself."

Jane immediately pushed it back towards her, but she was insistent, to the extent that she actually placed it on his palm and wrapped his hand gently around it using her own. As she did so, she told him the precise instructions on how he was meant to use it. The spirits had been insistent, down to the finest detail, apparently. When he finally managed to escape from her clutches, Jane was faintly surprised that she hadn't asked for payment. Most con artists fooled people into taking the supposed goods, acting as if it were goodwill and then asked for the money afterwards. On the contrary, Tamzin had claimed that money was of no import when it came to something of this magnitude.

Not that it had any seriousness whatsoever as far as he was concerned. It was just some miscellaneous herbs, dried and carelessly thrown together. Then, she had probably uttered some nonsense over it, while waving her hands in a random manner. Considering how old the herbs were, they probably wouldn't even be any good for cooking now. Still, he pocketed them and thanked her for her time. After her performance, he didn't have the heart to repeat that he wouldn't be taking them, that he didn't need them. Instead, he'd just dump them in the nearest trash can and forget about it.

xxx

The herbs rested heavily in his jacket pocket. Not because of what Tamzin had informed him that they did, but because of the memories that she had dislodged by dredging up the past. She may have been more than a little bit delusional, but she was good at her act. Especially so considering she had succeeded in ensuring the thoughts remained firmly in his mind. Then again, all she had been selling him was hope, a wish. Who didn't have regrets that lingered behind them, things they wished they could go back in time and change? It was simply a give fact that his were of a considerably higher magnitude than the average person's.

When he arrived back at the headquarters, he was so engrossed in his memories that Lisbon picked up on his supposed prickly mood almost instantaneously. Jane knew that he shouldn't have been surprised; out of anyone living, she understood him the best. However, it still irked him. He didn't like the concept of other people being able to read him so easily. It made him wonder if this was how they felt when he pulled his tricks on them. And besides, he had always believed that his tells hadn't been particularly obvious. That he knew how to mask them so that people couldn't get that foot in the proverbial door.

It appeared that he had been wrong on that count twice in one day now. Obviously he was just having a bad day. It wasn't possible that he was losing his touch; that very concept was simply inconceivable.

Still he tried to let himself become engrossed in their current case. It was pretty dull; a mugging gone wrong, with a very poor cover up afterwards. Something which Tamzin Dove was more than capable of doing, in Jane's opinion. It was also the kind of case that he always considered as being one where they didn't need his help to close it. They were, after all, highly skilled individuals and they could easily do their jobs without his help. It just so happened that for some unfathomable reason that they preferred to have his input as well. Probably because it increased their closed case record considerably, though he did suspect that it was because they were equally fond of him too. And that meant Tamzin was right, in some respect. Sheer intrigue had led him back to her doorstep, rather than it being purely a case-related meeting.

Throughout the afternoon, Lisbon kept an especially close eye on Jane. That annoyed him, as had her initial reading of him. It meant that the damn herbs still weren't far from his mind and that she was itching to ask him what was wrong. Sometimes he wanted, needed her care and attention, even. At this present moment in time, he would have much rather do without it. Jane was finding it suffocating, almost, as he often did whenever he was thinking about his family with her in close proximity. Though he had revealed the barest of details about them to her, they were still something which he preferred to keep fiercely private. He almost felt as though sharing his memories with somebody else – especially someone he cared about – would somehow tarnish them, mean they weren't so clear in his mind.

He kept his hand firmly placed on his left jacket pocket, where the herbs had been hidden since Tamzin had handed them to him. Jane wasn't about to tell Lisbon any time soon. He didn't require her input to know just how ridiculous it was that this was bothering him so much.

xxx

Instead of returning to the motel room he was currently renting out, Jane headed, instead to his family home. It wasn't too far from central Sacramento, after all. Not like the other place, in Malibu, which he had promptly sold soon after his release from the mental institution. He would have gotten rid of this one too, were it not for two very important details.

Firstly, this was the place that Charlotte was born.

And secondly, it was where she had died, along with her beautiful mother.

Like he always did, Jane ignored the furnishings, the mess and the dust. Instead, he headed straight for the staircase and upstairs. He felt compelled to go to the master bedroom, where it had happened, where his life had essentially been turned upside down. It was almost as if he was working on autopilot, or at least, being dragged there by unfathomable forces. He felt his muscles getting heavier, his mind slowing down as he got closer and closer to the room. Automatically, Jane reached into his pocket and grasped hold of the small packet of herbs. Now he was here, he could barely remember Dove's instructions. Nor did he care what they were.

All he wanted to do was sleep.

It was only a matter of seconds before he collapsed on the mattress in a boneless heap and soon drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

xxx

"Daddy! Daddy, daddy, daddy!"

Jane's eyes sprang open at the sound of his daughter's exuberant voice. It was almost as if he'd last heard it yesterday. After his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight pouring in between the curtains, he took the time to take in his surroundings. The bedroom was a mess. That was something to be expected considering that Angela wasn't the tidiest of people and their daughter had taken directly after her in that respect. Nervously, he sat up. Everything was as it once was, before…

Before…

His eyes were automatically drawn to the wall. It was bare, a blank magnolia, as it once had been. Angela had always complained, stated that they should have gotten a nice photo frame and put up a montage of family pictures, or something. Jane, on the other hand, had always stalled. He had always appreciated the simplicity of the bedroom without the clutter of family portraits. It was bad enough that he had to endure the mess of her clothes scattered on the floor, never mind anything messing up the walls. Still, there was something missing from it. He knew exactly what, but he barely dared think about it. What a life would be like without that blood red smiley face painted on this precise wall. Carefully, he drew out where it should have been, where it would potentially still appear.

He shook his head, attempting to drag himself back to his senses. Then, he touched his wrist, carefully feeling out his pulse. Of course it was there, why wouldn't it have been? He took a deep breath of air and the smell of pancakes lingered. Angela had obviously decided that that was what would be suitable for breakfast. That felt surprisingly good. Then, he pinched himself, just to be sure that he was awake, that this wasn't a dream.

That Charlotte and Angela _hadn't_ been killed by Red John.

That Tamzin Dove's concoction of magic herbs, that her little spell, had indeed, worked.

"Daddy!" Charlotte shouted once more, imploringly.

Jane turned, with his arms outspread, ready to take hold of his daughter and swing her high into the air. It had been such a long time since he had last been able to do that, and now, he was relishing the chance to do so again. He called for her, told her it was okay to come in the bedroom instead of making all that noise just outside. Eventually, she did rush inwards, but she didn't coming running straight into his arms. Instead, he looked to his left and there was another Patrick Jane, beaming widely and tickling the little girl until she shook with laughter.

His face fell. That couldn't be right, could it?

And it was then when he realized everything he had lost by not disposing of the herbs, by letting them linger in his mind for so long after. Now, it appeared that he was doomed to live a half-life, watching himself make all the same mistakes again and lose his loved ones once more. On top of that, there were the people he'd left behind, in the future, of sorts. In the life he'd carved out for himself within the CBI. Rigsby, Van Pelt, Cho.

Lisbon.

Especially Lisbon. He'd always let himself get close to her, even when he knew that he shouldn't have done so.

As much as he loved seeing his daughter again, listening to her laugh and shriek and giggle, watching her play, he wasn't sure that this was worth it. After all, he couldn't touch her, couldn't interact with her. All he could do was watch himself tickle and taunt her. Watch another Jane kiss his wife tenderly on the lips. Observe as he swindled innocent person after innocent person out of their life's savings.

See how he lived his life from another perspective.

If he really thought about it, this was almost some sort of hell. Then again, he had unintentionally delved into the unknown, despite the fact he had always been reluctant to believe in magic and witchcraft. Somehow, he had been conned into participating in something he wasn't even sure he'd wanted to do in the first place.

And now he knew.

He wanted off.

The question was how. There had to be a reverse button, didn't there?

Or was a spell once cast permanent?

All he knew was that he had to try.


End file.
